Gossip Boys
by mypetelephant
Summary: Confiscated Dark objects are disappearing from the Ministry, and journalist Harry Potter is on the case. Unfortunately, he has to drag along Draco Malfoy, gossip columnist extraordinaire, whose subject of choice is everyone's favorite desultory hero. All Harry wants is to put out a respectable article. Oh, and to forget a night that only Draco knows and will never write about.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you so much to my betas rozeable1 and thusspakekate for helping me with this fic. I was having a ridiculous timet getting it started thanks to an extended bout of writer's block, and their comments helped me get through it and figure out what I was doing.

I wrote this for HD Career Fair 2012 over at hd_fan_fair on livejournal. I highly recommend clicking over to the fest because there are some great stories and artwork there.

* * *

_**Sing Me a Lullaby**_

_I hope we're all rested from our weekends of debauchery. Surely those of you who spent some time at the Leaky Cauldron this weekend slept a little better than normal thanks to a lovely, drunken serenade from our favourite hero of the Wizarding World. Maybe if his job at_

_The Quibbler fails as badly as his other professional endeavours, The Dancing Doxies might take him on as a lounge singer? He'll have to learn to do it without falling off the table and crashing on the crowd though. Fortunately for Mr. Potter, he found a new unnamed man to lick his wounds - and then some. Never fear, dear readers, when I have a name for this companion, I'll be sure to have a full report on the rest of the night. I haven't let you down yet._

_- Draco_

xxxxx

The force of the paper hitting the desk made the pages scatter, separating words and photos of socialites as they waved desperate imitations of nonchalance. Harry stared at the mess of paper, wondering why he had bothered to read this week's column. The answer, of course, was that the whole process had become routine. Every Monday, he opened up his copy of the _Daily Prophet_and scanned through the headlines until the only section left was the gossip section. And every Monday, he told himself to just trash the unread section, toss it over his shoulder and move on with his day. But of course he never did. He always turned to the damn page to see Malfoy, presiding over the page with a smirk he should have outgrown.

Malfoy didn't always write about Harry. Those weeks were a relief, not having to storm down to Malfoy's office or compose another Howler. But those weeks were also rare. Most weeks, Harry read glorified accounts of his weekend festivities: tales of men and women picked up in bars; epic sagas that gleefully described the twisted path Harry retched his way through as he led his latest paramour to his flat. The most disconcerting aspect of these stories was that Draco knew more about Harry's weekend than Harry could ever remember through the haze of his hangover-induced exhaustion. Well, at least today's column explained the bruise on his hip.

But Draco was never content to just stop there. No, his columns usually included a full review of Harry's bedroom talents, courtesy of the eager young things who willingly fell into his lap. Malfoy had taken to categorizing these interviews under the title, "The Boy Who Shagged." What was this week's man named? Derek? Or perhaps Andrew? Or maybe Andrew had been two weeks ago? Whoever it was, they would not be the first to provide a comprehensive assessment of everyone's favourite hero.

Harry stood up and, in one big gesture, swept the papers off his desk and onto the ground. There. That was better. Sure, he could have used his wand to dispose of the paper in a cleaner manner, but where was the physical satisfaction in that? He would take care of it later. Or, more likely, Hermione would probably take care of it the next time she visited his office.

But despite the grand demonstration of dismissive anger, Draco's face still grinned up at Harry from the top of the scattered heap. Without thinking, Harry lifted his foot and stamped repeatedly on the photo, slamming his shoe down so that the layers of dirt that filled the tracks of his shoe formed a faint print across Draco's impeccable suit. But Draco just continued to sneer back, his eyebrow arched as if to say, "Are you quite finished now?" Harry jerked open a drawer, grabbing a red envelope and quill. He'd stocked up on Howlers after the time Malfoy had written about Harry's predilection for back-alley blowjobs. The once-large pack had quickly dwindled to what was now just a few envelopes, stuffed in the back of the drawer under a crush of parchment and quills. With little desire to engage in flowery language, Harry quickly scrawled out, "MALFOY! I DIDN'T SAVE YOUR LIFE FOR THIS SHIT! GET A REAL FUCKING JOB!" and sent it out using one of the office owls.

Twenty minutes later, an elegant silver envelope was dropped on Harry's desk, landing in his tea. He dragged out the parchment, the now familiar cursive script reading simply, "You first."

Harry tossed the letter over his shoulder. Months before, he would have stormed down to the _Daily Prophet_and gently asked Draco to stop being such a piece of shit. "Gently," of course, was a relative term. But he'd stopped going down there when the sight of Malfoy's face did nothing reminded him of a night that made his cheeks burn.

"Harry?" There was the faint sound of jingling behind him, which snapped him out of a thought process that involved several creative ways to murder Malfoy. Luna stared at the pile of paper that engulfed the floor, her old Butterbeer cork necklace tinkled against a newer collection of assorted keys as she turned her head.

"Er, sorry," he offered hastily. With his wand, he tried to shuffle the papers into a more respectable pile, but all he managed to do was get some of the pages to half-heartedly chase each other under the desk.

"Harry, have you written the article about the Wrackspurt infestation in the Ministry?" asked Luna. "You've had two weeks to work on it, and we really need to send it out for print soon."

He felt a tinge of anxiety as he realize that of all the things he had meant to do over the weekend, this article had been the one thing he had immediately forgotten about after leaving work on Friday. "Sorry, Luna. I really am." He gave an apologetic smile, and then tried for something that might inspire more confidence. "I have all the notes and everything though. I can finish it by this afternoon."

He was surprised to see that Luna looked vaguely sorry too, and underneath that sorrow was a far less surprising sense of disappointment. It was worse than if she had scolded him. This job at _The Quibbler_was really more a favour on her part, a last ditch effort by a good friend to help Harry figure out his life while everyone else settled down. She had offered him the position after Harry had quit his fifth job in the span of a year. It was rare for Luna to display frustration with him though. Hermione had made a routine out of scolding him for his weekend philandering, and Ron still questioned his decision to stop working as an Auror. He couldn't blame them for their concern, but it had always been a welcome relief to talk to Luna, who criticized Harry more for his lack of belief in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack than for his tendency to show up to work hung-over from the previous night.

"Harry," Luna began carefully, "if this is too much, we can find something else for you to do. I know you don't really like writing about Wrackspurts, but it's very important that people know what's happening. People have been walking around the Ministry like they've been Confunded for weeks."

"Nah, that's just how they always are," Harry replied, and then sighed when he remembered that he owed Luna more than just a joke of an article. "I can do it, don't worry. The Wrackspurts are...er...really thrilling. I swear that I'm really excited to write this article." He rummaged through his desk and brought out a parchment that was sparse with notes, brandishing it as if they were proof of his commitment to the Wrackspurt-awareness cause.

Luna gave him her usual dreamy smile, one that reassured him that growing up didn't have to change everything about a person; that adulthood was a temporary state that periodically disrupted people's natural behaviour and not just a permanent change in who they were. "Just have it on my desk by tomorrow morning."

After she left, Harry sat back down and stared at the notes he had written out. Taking out a clean parchment, he grabbed his quill and placed it against the sheet. Unfortunately, words did not magically flow out. When he looked down, there was only an ever-increasing radius of ink where the tip met parchment.

"The," he told himself. "'The' is always a good way to start out."

But "the" what?

"The Wrackspurts."

Yes, yes. But what about the Wrackspurts?

"The Wrackspurts are coming."

Harry leaned back in his chair and read the sentence over several times. He promptly the parchment on fire.

Malfoy probably didn't have this problem, Harry thought bitterly. Malfoy probably just set his pen to parchment and watched the words flow out. Wonderful sentences full of dragon shit that made him one the _Daily Prophet_'s most popular writers while Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, had to scrounge around his brain for words that could be strung together to explain Wrackspurts.

He spent the rest of the day alternating between resting his head on his desk and adding one painstaking sentence the other. By the end of the day, he had finally produced a manageable passage, but his sense of accomplishment was dulled by exhaustion. It was a relief when he walked into The Leaky Cauldron and saw that Ron was already there, working his way happily through a plate filled with the remains of what must have been a substantial dinner.

"Hermione still has you on a diet?" Harry asked as he sat down.

"Worse," Ron replied while scraping the last remains of gravy. "She's gotten my mum to join in...says that nothing can go wrong with this wedding, not after the last one."

"You mean the one where Death Eaters took over and tried to kill us?"

"Yeah. Except now that there aren't Death Eaters to worry about, mum's a bit more concerned about how my dress robes fit than anything else. But how is getting rid of mashed potatoes going to make a difference if I've only got two weeks until the wedding?"

"Sorry," Harry offered wryly. "I should have waited until after your wedding to destroy the last Horcrux."

Ron grinned. "Exactly."

Harry went to the bar to order a drink, bringing back two glasses of Firewhiskey for Ron and him.

"So how's _The Quibbler_going?" Ron asked he came back.

Harry sighed and drank his Firewhiskey in one long, burning gulp.

"That bad?"

He shrugged as the last remnants of whiskey coated his throat. "I thought being a journalist would be more...exciting. But I'm just writing about things I don't really care about."

"Can't you ask to write about something else?" Ron spoke, louder now, trying to make himself heard over the growing dinner crowd.

"Luna says that if I have my own ideas I can write about them," Harry explained. "I just don't have any ideas."

"None?"

"This sort of thing was easier when everything was trying to kill me."

"You don't think the Wrackspurts are trying to kill you? They sound pretty serious." Ron recoiled in faux-apology when he saw the look Harry shot him. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He was silent for a few seconds, looking Harry over with a pitying look that would be annoying from anyone else. Ron seemed to be debating with himself, his lips tight as if to physically ensure that he didn't talk before he knew what to say. "Look," he finally said, "if you want something to look into, I might have something."

"Something?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Ron toyed with his knife, idly scratching circles into the last remains of gravy. "I don't know if it's anything, but it could be."

Harry leaned back, unsure if he really wanted to have this conversation. Being offered advice and opportunities was becoming far too common an occurrence. But on the other hand, he wasn't in a position to turn aid away. "Tell me."

"I was working on this case recently that had to do with a toaster that was exploding every time a Muggle touched it. I wanted to compare it to this cursed fork that I found on an old raid. It was a pretty nasty fork - made all your food turn into Doxie droppings once it got into your mouth." Ron stared at his own empty plate, as if considering what it would be like to have that happen to him. Harry's stomach turned at the thought, and he had to set down his sandwich for a second to let the queasiness pass. "So I went to evidence storage to take a look. But when I got down there, it was gone."

"I assume that by, 'gone,' you mean that it was missing?"

Ron leaned forward and lowered his tone. "That's the thing, it wasn't just missing. I looked through the records, and there was no mention of the fork. None at all. It was like it never existed."

"And there's no possibility that it was just moved?"

"I thought about that, but I asked the woman who works in Confiscations and she insisted that something like that would be recorded in her book. Seemed a bit offended really that I would think that she might not have kept the record."

"Is the fork the only thing that's missing?"

"I don't know exactly how much stuff is missing. I just looked for the things I could remember - a pair of feet-chewing boots, these glasses that make your eyes burn. Some really nasty things. Most of them were still there, but there at least seven Dark objects missing, their records completely gone. Even the write-ups for those raids don't talk about those objects, and I know I included them in my reports." Shuddering, he added, "There's no way I didn't write up a pair of boots that could do that to a foot."

"Has anyone else noticed this happening?"

"I asked around. But you know how it is - most of us try to leave the Dark Objects section of evidence storage well enough alone. Too many things that want to break out of their binds and hurt you. Plus, it makes it a bit difficult to trust any of your own things when you see some of the stuff people hex. Remember Roger Thomas?"

Harry reached vaguely into his memory to recall the people he had once worked with. "You mean the guy who always wore a polka-dot bow tie and would invade our office to talk about the weather?"

"That's the one. He had to spend a weekend working down there once. The next week, he kept telling us that his pants were conspiring to kill him."

"So I assume there's a reason why you need me to look into this?"

"I told Mitchell, but he told me that this was a low priority case." Ron scrunched up his face. "He thinks it's just some misplaced paperwork."

"Missing Dark objects and this is low priority? Merlin, Mitchell is such a bloody fool. I don't understand how he got to be head of the department."

"Well, he's pushy as hell. And it probably didn't help that you quit." As soon as the words came out, Ron looked like he wished he could take them back.

"Ron," Harry grumbled back. "Not this again. I get enough nagging from Hermione."

"She's just worried that you have no idea what you want to do with your life."

"And she's right. But that doesn't mean I'm going to work for the Ministry again.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Ron said. "It's not that bad. I know that all the dumb rules were getting to you, but it's not so bad now."

"It's not that they just didn't make sense, Ron. They actually hurt us. Remember? That time we got in trouble because the spells that saved our life weren't 'Ministry-approved'? Or how about the time we lost track of the counterfeit Bezoar ring because the Floo network people filed their paperwork too late?"

"Look, Harry, you don't have to explain all of this to me. I know how frustrating it is to work there; I do it every day. What I don't understand is why you don't like working for Luna. The closest thing you have to a rule there is that you have to write the occasional batty article. The rest is totally up to you."

"I told you, I don't know what to write about."

"Then why don't you ask around and see if you hear anything about these things?" Ron took a small list from his robes and passed it across the table. "Maybe there's something more up your alley in here."

Harry scanned the list, reading off items that would make Borgin and Burkes squeal with malicious excitement. Still, it was difficult to shake off the feeling that this was yet another example of his friends desperately trying to motivate Harry into something that resembled his previous glory. He hated being a repeat charity case that failed to meet expectations, and he didn't want to go down this road just to have it dead end again. "Look, Ron," he said, passing the note back. "Thanks for the conspiracy, but I don't know about this."

Ron just looked at him with frustrating understanding. "Harry, I'm not trying to do you a favour if that's what you're worried about. I've got mystery drugs being dealt in Hogsmeade that make people think they've been turned into unicorns, and a dead Portkey department member, and three more raids to round out the month - all while getting ready for this wedding. I just don't have the time to look into unofficial cases right now."

"But I do?" Harry shot back, almost regretting the bite in his tone.

"Yes! Well, not like you're just being lazy," Ron corrected hastily. "But you want things to write about, and I want someone to look into this. This isn't like when Hermione tried to set you up with that Flobberworm breeder."

"It better not be. That was one of the worst dates I've ever been on," Harry groaned, his eyes widening in pain as he remembered that evening. "I don't ever want to hear about the mating cycle of Flobberworms again."

"Isn't that one of the only dates you've ever been on?" The words came from behind Harry, and he didn't have to turn to know who it was. The grimace on Ron's face was enough to confirm Draco Malfoy's presence.

As soon as he turned to look, Harry regretted it. He always hoped to see Malfoy worn out, his hair mussed with dirt and holes destroying his clothes. But that was never the case. No, Malfoy was always in pristine condition. "Malfoy," he hissed. "For once in your life, can you not be a prick and just leave? I don't feel like talking to you right now."

"I can tell. All these Howlers dampen the joy of your outrage. It's been a while since I've enjoyed the company of your damaged vocal cords."

"Sod off," Ron said as his hand edged towards his wand. Harry tried to send him a warning look. The last thing he needed was to give Malfoy an insider's perspective into a Harry Potter-sponsored bar fight.

"Why would I do that?" Draco asked with terrifying pleasantness. "A good journalist sticks around and interviews his subjects, whether they want him there or not. Isn't that right, Potter?"

"You're not an journalist," Harry retorted. "You're a fucking gossip columnist."

"Ah, right. You, of course, would know better than me. I quite enjoyed your exposŽ on the Blibbering Humdinger. What next? A stunning piece on invisible creatures invading people's minds?"

"At least it isn't dumb gossip," Harry retorted.

The comment had little impact on Malfoy's demeanour. "My dumb gossip has helped the _Daily Prophet _double its subscriber count," he said calmly. "If people subscribe to _The Quibbler_now, it's just so they can watch you crash and burn."

"Right, because I need to worry about the opinion of someone who spends his days obsessing over my personal life and publishing everything he can about it."

"Oh, surely you joke, Potter. You and I both know that I haven't written everything I know about your personal life." Harry felt his face flush at the words, knowing that Malfoy could only mean one thing.

"You know," Ron interjected heatedly, "if it weren't for Harry, you and your parents would be rotting in Azkaban right now."

"Why does everyone get so hung up on that detail? Potter hasn't asked me kneel before him and beg for ways to express my gratitude," he smiled coldly at Harry, "yet." The word was loaded with meaning that Harry could only hope Ron didn't pick up on. It was lucky that Hermione wasn't around. "Until that time," Malfoy continued, "I have work to do. I need to thank someone who will help me soon enough."

Malfoy passed by them and headed to the bar, settling on an empty barstool next to a handsome brunet man. Harry instantly recognized the man as the one whose company he'd enjoyed the past weekend. He wasn't surprised to see Draco hand a sack of coins to the man. It would have angered Harry to know that his private life could be measured in Galleons, but he had long suspected that this was Malfoy's preferred method of obtaining gossip.

Ron turned his head to see what Harry was staring at. "Who is that?"

"I don't remember his name," Harry confessed. "I met him this past weekend at a bar.'

"This past weekend? At a bar? Oh, is he the one - " Ron stopped himself. His face turned a brilliant red to match his hair.

"Oh, no." Harry sighed in comprehension. "You're not reading his column too, are you?"

"I don't read it on purpose!"

"How do you accidentally read a gossip column?"

"We just haven't heard from you in a while," Ron said apologetically. "We want to make sure you're okay."

"'We'? I should have known Hermione was involved."

"She gets worried, that's all. You know how she is - it's not a day if she hasn't meddled in something." Ron looked supremely uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "So, are you going to look into the artefacts?" he asked hastily, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Only if you do one thing for me."

"What?"

"Stop reading Malfoy's column!"


	2. Chapter 2

The shrill sound of an alarm was making Harry's head hurt. He let out a long, tortured groan into his pillow and gave himself five seconds to sit up. But by the end of the count, he was still splayed across the mattress. It took him five more attempts of this to finally lift himself off the mattress.

There wasn't a strict schedule at _The Quibbler_. The few writers who worked there strode in and out as it pleased them. It was both an appealing and difficult aspect of the job. Lacking the incentive to be punctual, Harry often showed up late into the morning. Today, however, he was one of the first people to show up. He hadn't slept well, alternating between excitement over a potential conspiracy and worry that this would lead to another dead end. The only way he knew to resolve the situation was to act on it.

His first course of action was to draft letters to anyone who might have information. There were many potential sources of varied respectability, and even in criminal circles, "the boy who lived and then saved the Wizarding World again and again" carried some cachet. Harry was careful to avoid mention of the fact that many of these items had likely been stolen from the Ministry. Leaking a possible security breach in the Ministry could only lead to more trouble. In his letters, Harry explained that he was looking into several artefacts that were important to the Society of the One-eyed Unicorn, a secret cult that hoped to travel across planets on the back of a figure named Conch. Working for Luna may have its quirks, but he was finding that it provided for an excellent cover.

The responses trickled in slowly over the rest of the day. Most of his contacts had no immediate information, but they offered to ask around. Harry didn't hold out much hope for a future response. The downside of using a made-up secret society as a cover is that it doesn't inspire much urgency. Even when he came back to his desk the next day, Harry saw only a small batch of straggling responses. They were all as useless as the previous responses - all except for one.

Elise Fuchs was the sort of contact that Harry would never tell Ron about. She had been one of their first cases after finishing their training, taking them on a whirlwind tour around England as she handily stole from several prominent museums. It took a shady deal with a crooked art dealer to catch her, and she'd still managed to get off on a technicality. And yet now she proved to be a useful source of information.

_Oh, Harry. I do so enjoy our correspondences. I only wish you wouldn't wait for such flimsy excuses to talk to me. A cult that needs cursed utensils? Really? Fine, I'll let you keep your little secrets. You will be delighted to know that I have heard of several of the items finding their way to Copenhagen, though where they ended up, I can hardly say._

_-Elise_

_PS I've enjoyed reading about your exploits. Do pass my compliments to Mr. Malfoy, should you ever run into him._

A city was a good start, but it didn't solve all the riddles .The fact remained that all of these items had come from inside the Ministry. It seemed stupid to overlook the obvious: that someone was working from within the Ministry. Of course, "Ministry employee" was a rather large starting point for any inquiry. He needed help to narrow down the list. He needed someone who delighted in the bureaucracy of the Ministry. Someone who could recite the dullest of details like they were worth Galleons.

He knew exactly who needed.

"Harry! I'm so glad you called me down here!" Percy Weasley strode into the room, chest puffed out as he shook Harry's hand. He pulled himself a chair and sat down without invitation. "So," he said eagerly, rubbing his hands together. "What's all this about?"

"Has Ron told you anything?" Harry asked, hoping that he could efficiently navigate this discussion before Percy went off on a tangent about broomsticks or cauldrons.

"Ron?" Percy's forehead creased as he squinted his eyes in confusion. "What does this have to do with Ron? You know, you should really include more information in your letters. I hate showing up to meetings unprepared."

"Sensitive information, Percy," Harry said impatiently. "I can't just have everything laid out in a letter flying through the Ministry."

Percy's ears perked up at "sensitive." He leaned forward as if half-expecting Harry to whisper the whole tale into his ear, forcing Harry to sit back in his chair so that he could reclaim some breathing space of his own. "These aren't Ministry secrets, right?" Percy said. His expression wavered between wide-eyed excitement and tight-lipped consternation. "You know that just because you were an Auror once doesn't mean you can keep holding onto that security clearance. If these are Ministry - "

"Don't worry, Percy. I know better than to tell you if I have Ministry documents that I shouldn't have." Harry took the list of items from his desk and handed them over. "Do any of these objects mean anything to you?"

Percy quickly scanned through the list, but there was no hint of recognition. "You know, I'm really not the guy for this. Ron would know way more about any of these things."

"I know. He's the one who realized they were missing from the Ministry."

"Missing? That can't be." He took a deep breath, and Harry readied himself for the onslaught of words to come. "They probably just got shuffled around. You know how paperwork always takes so long to get filed. You should hear what we've been dealing with in terms of broom traffic over Cardiff. I've put in four requests to the Portkey department because we just can't have all this long-distance travel happening over brooms, but they've lost every single one of them. I guess it's hardly their fault now, what with a dead man and all. But really, being down a member is hardly an excuse for shoddy organization. I mean, if someone in my department died, we would hardly notice because everything would be running so well. Not to say that we wouldn't notice. We're not heartless. Just - "

"Percy! They're missing," Harry repeated, hoping to lull Percy back into the relevant issues. "Well, sort of. I think I have an idea of where some of these things are. And they're definitely not in the Ministry."

"What do you need me for then?"

"I need to find out how they got out of the Ministry."

"Aaah. Well, no one I've talked to has mentioned smuggling items out of evidence storage."

"Do your colleagues regularly discuss the illegal things they do with Ministry property?" Harry asked wryly.

"No, no. I suppose no." Percy was a useful source at the Ministry, eager to make up for his youth through demonstrations of commitment to Harry's cause. The challenge lay in channelling his energy into something useful.

"So some of the objects have been seen in Copenhagen. Do you know of anyone in the ministry who has been travelling there frequently?"

"Not in the past month or two. But the Magical Trading Standards department was doing a lot of travel there a few months ago to work out an agreement over the trade of dragon blood. You think one of them might be involved?"

"I have no clue. I'm just going down this line of thought because it's the only one I've got. Do you think they could do this?"

"On their own, probably not. Their department is repeatedly behind on paper work," Percy stated decisively, as if paperwork was the key to understanding criminal activity. "How could any of them be trusted with the entirety of a smuggling enterprise?"

"Then do you think anyone would make for a good suspect?" Harry asked.

Percy started muttering through a list of names, periodically stopping to silently consider individuals. "I don't think Milton would do something like this. He's too close to retirement, and he hates excitement. But there are a few people towards the top of the department who would probably be interesting. They did the most travelling. And who better to set up unregulated trade than the people who have passed the regulations?"

"That only accounts for part of the total puzzle though," Harry noted. "They might know who to sell to, but how do they get the objects out of the Ministry? How would they even manage to get the objects out of the evidence storage? They don't have that sort of clearance."

"I could look into it." There was that eagerness creeping back into Percy's voice. "If you'd like, I mean," he added hastily. "I don't want to trample all over your investigation."

"I guess if you just watch these guys for a bit, that might be helpful."

"Should I interrogate them?"

"NO!" Harry replied forcefully, suddenly very afraid of what Percy might do in his enthusiasm. Lowering his voice, he explained, "You really want to be sneaky. Just watch out for them, keep track of what they're doing and who they're talking to."

"Oh, you mean like how you used to follow Malfoy around when you thought he was up to something."

"Yes," he said cautiously. "I guess something like that would be good."

"Though I suppose with less punching and shoving against walls?"

"I think subtlety in general would be good," Harry clarified uneasily.

"Should we have a secret code then? Do we need a secret location to meet up? Oh, I can wear a disguise!"

"I don't think that's necessary. Just stop by if you think you have anything.

"Okay." Percy hardly looked convinced as put the unmarked parchment back into the briefcase. "If you say so."

"Thanks, Percy," Harry said, grateful that for once he was asking a favour that didn't stem from any personal failure.

"Not at all," he shot back cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to it." And with a firm shake of Harry's hand, there was a pop, and Percy was gone.

xxxxx

Despite the initial energy provided by Elise's information and Percy's aid, Harry found much of his own enthusiasm dampened by the time Friday had come. He'd spent three days tracking down hypotheses that led to nowhere until, disguised as an old ice cream parlour owner with an appreciation for odd utensils, he'd managed to locate a store in Copenhagen that had the Doxie droppings fork, though it had been sold already. Dark objects dealers were understandably tight-lipped about their trade, and even when Harry had appeared in their store disguised with Polyjuice Potion, he could glean little information about how they had obtained the fork.

He had, however, managed to lay down the latest model of the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes Portable Swamp towards the back of the store. With the shopkeeper distracted, Harry snuck behind the front desk to look through the acquisition records. Most of the entries included the names of merchants and individuals who had sold their items to the store, but the fork was different. Instead of a name, there was simply, "S." He flipped through the rest of the pages, his fingers prickling with the excitement of discovery. S appeared as the seller for several objects, including some that Ron had included in his list. A quick look through the sales book made it easy for Harry to find where these items had ended up.

That had been the extent of his productivity though. So it was a relief when Percy came back Thursday night with a mass of parchment filled with writing so small that even Hermione would complain. After spending several hours looking through the notes, Harry had hardly felt more productive. And yet, he still knew nothing. Percy involved the most agonizingly trivial details, including a thorough breakdown of the hourly bathroom trends of each man in question. Harry had to wade through descriptions of clothes and detailed analyses of what a purple sweater might mean. He was starting to get a bit concerned that this is what he'd always looked like to his friends in Hogwarts: obsessive to the point of stalking and far too fixated on details that would eventually be deemed irrelevant.

At the end of the day, he left the office with only a few sheets: a list of the people each of the suspects had talked to, a review of their travel schedule, and a small list of Ministry expenditures that Percy had been able to dig up for each of them. The Leaky Cauldron was particularly loud that night, but Harry tuned out most of the noise while continuously staring at each of the lists. He was hoping that something would stand out to him, that a name or a date would become meaningful if only he just stared hard enough.

He didn't notice the person sitting across from him until a Butterbeer suddenly found its way across the table and into his peripheral vision.

"Hi," the stranger from across the table said. "I'm Alex." He was young and generically handsome - as they usually were. His brown hair was spiked in a way that Harry thought suited someone still in school, but his professional attire and briefcase indicated that he was at least a few years out of Hogwarts. Without much else to go on, Harry would have guessed that this Alex had been a second year during the Battle of Hogwarts. At this rate, in twenty years, Harry would eventually be fucking people whose parents had fought in the battle.

He really needed to stop gauging people's age this way, especially if he was going to be sleeping with them.

Harry had long stopped introducing himself to the witches and wizards who bought him drinks. It wasn't like the thunderbolt scar hadn't factored into their forwardness. "Thanks for the drink," he said, and then took a sip. "So Alex, what do you do?"

Two hours and five Firewhiskys later, Harry had already forgotten what Alex's profession was. His brain was occupied with more pressing matters, like how to best orient the other man in the cramped stall of the Leaky Cauldron. Given his experience with bathroom shags, Harry felt that he should be able to remember important details like leg angle and hand placement. But in the fog of hangover that usually followed such dalliances, he would always forget. It was nice in some ways - it helped common occurrences feel a bit more fresh each time they happened.

Alex was gone by the next morning, which was a great source of relief for Harry. Any snog was a welcome snog, but only between the hours of 8 pm and whenever Harry woke up from the previous night.

The motivation to get out of bed hit late that day, and only when the pounding in his head had calmed long enough for him to seek out a potion to contend with the growing nausea. Unfortunately, his stock had become troublingly thin. The last droplets were barely enough for his stomach to keep down breakfast, and he spent the late morning with his head against the table in the hopes that it would make the world stop spinning. When he woke again three hours later, drooling onto his kitchen table, Harry finally managed to lift himself up and seek out the papers he had brought home. Maybe in the painfully bright light of a new day, he could think of something new. As he shuffled through his robes though, it became apparent that the sheets were no longer there. He dug around the rest of his flat, scrambling through the rubble of scattered belongings across his floor.

He finally gave up and decided to check with the Leaky Cauldron. He managed to scrounge up one of his last clean shirts, slapping water on his face as if that would make him look slightly less haggard. The brave venture out of his flat turned out to be a waste though. No one had seen the parchments. He tried to recall the path he'd taken home, following his usual alleys. But there was still no sign of them.

A slight panic began to grow in his chest. What had he done with the parchments? Was someone onto his investigation? What if he never found the sheets again? Could he really ask Percy to do all that work for him again?

It was a relief then to see the parchments at his door when he got home. It was less of a relief to see them in Draco Malfoy's hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco paced the perimeter of the kitchen, inspecting the sink full of dishes from a safe distance. He sniffed the air cautiously and recoiled in disgust. "Really, Potter? You leave your dishes like this when you have guests over?"

"If I'd known you were coming, I would've added a few more along with some expired milk." Harry resisted the urge to grab his wand and quickly wash the dishes so that Malfoy would have one less thing to criticize. This was the last place he wanted to see Draco, especially with such little warning. He could have tidied the place a little better, made it less unimpressive. Not that he needed Draco's approval, he told himself. But he could do with a little less disapproval.

"I'm not worried about me," Malfoy assured him loftily. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans that on anyone else would be hardly worthy of note. On Draco, though, it came with the arrogant casualness of someone who has decided that effort will only mar perfection. Next to him, Harry felt grimy, the mass of oily hair on his head and the holes in his jeans conspiring to make him stand out as distinctly inferior to Draco's presence. "I'm concerned about the welfare of my sources. Who knows what diseases are growing in that basin?"

"It's nice that you have someone's welfare in mind."

Draco ignored him, taking out his wand and lightly prodding at a small pile of mould growing at the bottom of the sink.

"Can you please stop touching things?" Harry demanded loudly. "Actually, can you please just stop being here?"

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready." Draco pulled out a chair and sat down He assessing the rickety table that Harry had balanced using several editions of the _Daily Prophet._He absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair, an entrancing habit of his that Harry had forgotten about. It had been odd enough to stare when he'd first noticed, several years ago, how light bounced off Malfoy's hair as the strands wove through elegant fingers. It would only be worse now if Draco caught him looking so intently. "I've heard so much about this place," Malfoy said as he ducked under the table, removing the papers and uttering a quiet spell to fix the table. "I feel like I practically live here."

"You should pay my rent then. Or fix more of my furniture."

"I won't though."

"Then get out. And please leave my belongings behind."

"You mean these?" Draco pulled out the roll of parchments, grinning at the perturbed look on Harry's face. "You don't care how I obtained them?" he teased and then pulled them away, just as Harry stepped forward to grab them.

Harry gave into his own curiosity and sat down. "Alex, I assume? I look forward to reading his review on Monday."

"He gave you high marks."

"He'd better. My jaw is still sore. And on top of that, he steals my property?"

Malfoy laughed, waving Harry's concerns aside. "Oh, don't blame him. He's a lowly assistant who wants to be a writer for the _Daily Prophet._I promised him an internship if he could bring me back something interesting."

"Great. It's not enough for you to record your obsession with my penis, you need people to steal my stuff too? What are you doing," Harry began snidely, "sniffing my parchments at night and wanking to them?"

"If you're worried that I spend my nights wondering what could have been," came the level reply, "you really don't have to worry."

"Right, and your column has nothing to do with wish fulfilment."

A light blush appeared on Draco's face, but it was soon replaced with a bland, disconcerting smile. "Let's move past the pleasantries, shall we? They're starting to get a bit redundant after all these years."

"Then what are you here for?"

Draco waved the roll of parchment, still out of Harry's reach. "You think I would return something out of the goodness of my heart? I want to know what this is."

"You've looked at it already. You know that it's a just a list."

"But why?"

"It's just something I'm looking at. For a side-project."

"What kind of side-project involves detailed financial records and travel schedules for Ministry officials?"

"The kind that you don't need to know about."

Malfoy tutted and scolded playfully. "Spoken like a petulant child."

"Really, Malfoy, what is your interest in all this?" Harry asked in aggravation. "This has nothing to do with your gossip."

"Shows how little you know." Malfoy shuffled through the parchments, waving his finger over the list of people that Percy's suspects had talked to. It was such an exhaustive list that Harry had no idea what to do with the information, wishing there was an efficient method to parse the interactions for something substantial. Malfoy, unfortunately, seemed to be that efficient method. "This guy," he said, tapping towards one corner of the page. "Robert Jenkins - why are you so interested in him?"

"He might be relevant." Harry knew he shouldn't be so difficult, not when there was a slight chance that Draco was on the verge of helping him. But the thought that he might need that help did not encourage good behaviour.

"Can you be any more infuriating? Of course he might be relevant."

"Excuse me if I don't find you particularly trustworthy. Why don't you tell me why of all the names on the list, his is the one that stands out to you?"

"Fine. What do you think about the fact that according to this list, Robert Jenkins and William Parker have been having a lot of conversations?"

"I don't know. Parker works for the Wizengamot. Maybe they're trying to figure out a case."

"They're not. I checked already." Harry was surprised that Draco had looked into this connection so quickly. "And even if they were, Parker is just a scribe. Why would he be talking to Jenkins?"

"Why have you checked this already?"

"Because I've been trying to figure out their connection for a week. They're not just chatting at work. They met up last week at the Hags Inn."

"Hags Inn? That shady place in Knockturn Alley?" He thought back to a night long ago during his Auror training when he'd somehow stumbled into a bar, and then stumbled out after a vampire had asked to taste his scar.

"I don't think it's on your usual pub schedule. Not anymore," Malfoy smirked knowingly. "It's a good place to keep track of. People who try to look respectable think it's a good place to hide their less legitimate dealings."

"You don't know what Parker and Jenkins were talking about?"

"I'll tell you what I heard if you'll tell me what you know." Malfoy was watching him intently. Harry had to look away, nervous to maintain eye contact. "Does this make sense at all given your side project?"

"As much as it pains me to admit this, it might."

"If I tell you that they seemed to be fighting about someone they called, 'S," would that help at all?"

Harry would have liked to maintain a straight face, to pretend that Malfoy's information meant nothing. But he couldn't help but feel a small wave a relief that the seemingly unrelated nodes of this plot were slowly building connections. "'S'?" he asked eager. "Are you sure?"

"Tell me what's going on or I'll take it all back."

"Why would I tell you anything? You're just going to steal my story."

"I just told you everything I know," Draco pointed out. "You have to return the favour."

"You regularly pay people to tell you what sex with me is like. You then publish it for everyone to read. I don't think I owe you much in the way of favours."

"I could help you." The offer was almost desperate. Draco's lips tightened, and he seemed almost embarrassed by how quickly his words had come out.

"I think you've helped as much as you can." He didn't want to tell Draco that the idea of them working together frightened him a little, made him nervous that things would end the same way as the last time they had spent so much time in each other's company.

"You need to stop thinking of what I do as useless gossip. I know so much that you can use."

"What else could you possibly know? Why would you even care?"

"Why do you think I do any of this? I like knowing anything there is to know about people. It gives you power."

"You work for another newspaper!" Harry reminded him, hoping that this decisive obstacle would put an end to Malfoy's determination.

Draco was silent as he mulled over this point, his chin resting on one hand as he tapped the notes for a piano piece on the table. It was yet another mindless habit of his that Harry knew to expect. He remembered a time when Malfoy's hands had accidentally played out their melody onto Harry's forearm, the light dance of fingertips along his skin paralyzing him with a desire that remained even when Malfoy, embarrassed by his inadvertent trespass, resumed his practice on the table.

"Oh! I know!" Malfoy's voice cut through the memory, and for a second, Harry felt that he had been caught in the middle of something lewd. "When all of this is done, you get to write the stunning expose that proves that you aren't a waste of space, and I'll get to write my own article about what it was like to work with you. I'll call it, _'A Day with a Whoring Hero.'" _

"Clever. And not convincing."

"Fine. I'll give you a one week reprieve on the gossip front," he offered.

"Two months."

"Two weeks. You can't just make me abandon my readers."

"A month. Fuck your readers."

"You probably have." He paused though to consider Harry's final offer. "Fine, I'll write my article and then leave you alone for a month. So please, will you tell me what's going on?"

With great reluctance, Harry began to explain, telling Draco of the missing Ministry objects that had started all of this, of the letter from Elise that had told him where to look, and of Percy's services that had lead to the encyclopaedic parchments. The story was short though, and Harry was frustrated by just how little he had to share with Malfoy. It would have been better if he had something better than coincidences and Draco's gossip.

Draco had been a good listener, staying quiet until the end. "You know," he said after Harry finished, "when I first saw that you had this list, I thought that maybe there was a secret sex organization going on and that you were involved."

"I'm sure that you would have made your day."

"Actually, I was a bit offended to not be invited."

Harry smiled wryly. "I'll be sure to let you know when I join a secret sex club so that I can get you signed up."

"Don't tease, Potter. You'll get my hopes up for nothing."

A slight arch in the eyebrows and a gleam in the grey eyes were enough to make Harry's pulse race, but then there was also the satin, lowered tone that prickled against his skin, and the exposed neck that was thwarted at the base of Draco's throat by the unnecessary shirt.

"Look, let's just focus on the task at hand." Harry said this more to himself than to Draco, hoping that the mystery would solve itself quickly so that they could resume their usual show of non-cooperation. "Do you know anything about Jenkins or Parker that might help us figure out what exactly they're doing?"

"No," Draco said, also resuming a more formal tone. "But I know someone who might."

xxxxx

"When you said that you had a person who you turn to for all of your gossip needs, you didn't mean your mother, did you?"

They were standing in front of iron gates, part of the imposing entrance to Malfoy Manor. In the distance, Harry could see the grand house itself.

Draco tapped the gate with his wand, then offered a salute that allowed him to walk through. "Of course I did," he said while he waited for Harry to copy his motions.

"You get your gossip from your mother?" Harry asked as the once solid gate became smoke as he passed through.

"Like your mum hasn't helped you make a living before."

"You're referring to the fact that she sacrificed herself for me." This wasn't meant to be a question, more a statement through which he could inflect some outrage.

"Yes, exactly. That's the one." Then, seeing the shock on Harry's face, Draco said defensively, "What? Your mum taught you to sacrifice yourself for every beleaguered soul who cries out for help. My mum taught me how to sit around and gossip."

"You're unbelievable," Harry said, shaking his head and wondering why he'd thought this would be a good idea. He tried to focus on the magnificent gardens that preceded the house, taking in the beauty of flowers and trees that blossomed under Narcissa's watchful gaze. "Didn't there used to be a tree there?" He pointed to an area of vivid red where a giant oak had once stood.

Draco turned back and looked at Harry, eyes wide with some surprise. "And you call me unbelievable." At the sight of Harry's questioning look, Draco pressed on. "You think I don't know what tree you're asking about?"

Harry's throat went dry as the significance of that tree came back to him. "The landscape looks different," he stammered. "That's all."

"Right. The landscape." It was Draco's turn to shake his head in disbelief. "Mum wanted a new rose garden, so she had it taken down."

They had finally made it up the long path of the driveway, the large black doors in sight. Before they had a chance to knock, the door swung wide open to reveal an older blonde woman.

"Draco?" Narcissa began to ask. "What are you - Harry!" As soon as she saw Harry, Narcissa reached out and drew him into a long hug. "It's been so long since we've seen you. Why haven't you come to visit?"

"Sorry. I've been busy with work," he lied. Draco snorted behind him.

"Of course, of course," Narcissa replied warmly. "We just were so grateful for all you did for us during the trial, we kind of hoped you would keep visiting. Luckily, we have Draco to keep track of you. It sounds like you've been quite busy." She winked at him, and in that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to punch Draco.

When they were inside, Narcissa had a house-elf bring them tea and biscuits, refusing to conduct any conversation until she was sure that Harry and Draco had both eaten something.

"Oh, Draco darling," she said in between sips. "Have you heard about Anthea Kerr?"

"Anthea Kerr?" Harry asked. "The singer?"

Draco spoke over Harry's question. "Is this about her shoplifting habit? Because I have a full article ready about her tendency to accidentally leave stores with half the inventory in her purse."

"Are you including her predilection for acquiring Hippogriff costumes? I heard from someone who does the make-up for the actor that Anthea dated once that she has an appreciation for men who are willing to put on the Hippogriff costume in bed."

Draco leaned forward, setting his tea down on the table so that he could focus all his attention on the conversation. "No! Why a Hippogriff of all things?"

"So any other creature could be understandable to you?" Harry asked, reaching out for a sugar cube.

"You learn to keep an open mind in my business," Draco explained.

"I'm glad you draw the line at Hippogriffs."

Draco leaned ever so slightly towards Harry, his arms brushing against Harry's as he whispered suggestively, "I hope that doesn't limit your repertoire."

Harry swallowed, grateful that Narcissa seemed to be oblivious as she refilled their cups. "So we have some questions to ask you." His voice was an octave higher than normal as Draco pressed his leg against him, and the hard muscle of Malfoy's thigh brushed against to his hand. Trying to lower his voice, he asked, "Do you know anything about Robert Jenkins?"

"Jenkins." Narcissa mulled over the name in her head. "He works for the Ministry, right?"

"Yeah, in Trading Standards."

She sat back, calming sipping her tea. "You know, nothing is coming to mind right now, but I know the ex-wife of one of the men in that department. I could invite them to tea this week to learn something. What exactly are you trying to find out?"

"I guess the easiest thing would be to find out if he's come into any money recently." Looking at Draco for confirmation, Harry stated, "If you're smuggling Dark Objects out of the country, there has to be money involved."

"Smuggling?" Narcissa set down her tea, and a look of worry crossed her face. "What have you boys gotten yourself into?"

"Some Dark items that the Ministry confiscated are missing," Draco explained. "And we think Jenkins might be involved."

Harry noted the "we" in Draco's statement and then promptly tried to dismiss any reaction it inspired in him. "How about William Parker?" he asked Narcissa. "He's a scribe in the Wizengamot."

"Ah, Mr. Parker." Narcissa laughed, and it was a thrilling sound that suggested confirmation. "Everyone's new favourite member at the club. If you'd come around more, Draco, you would already know what you needed to know about him."

"The last time I went, you tried to set me up with heir to Nimbus Brooms."

"He wasn't so unpleasant."

Draco grimaced. "He licked pudding off his tie."

"You can't be so picky, darling."

Harry leaned over and whispered, "Is your own mother telling you to lower your standards?"

"Moving on," Draco cried. "Parker is at the club. Did he say how he got in?"

"He mentioned an inheritance from a long-forgotten uncle. It must have been quite the inheritance though. He spends like a man who has no idea how to be rich. You know how those types are. Flashy robes, expensive brooms, and a new watch every week." Mother and son shuddered in identical displays of disgust.

"As a scribe for the Wizengamot," Harry began to muse, "he is well-placed to know what objects are getting put into the storage. He even has the clearance to get them out."

"Do you know anything about the items?" Narcissa asked. "Have you found any of them?"

"Yes, actually. I found some of them in Copenhagen. You haven't heard of anyone who goes by 'S,' by any chance?"

Her expression darkened. "S. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "You've heard of him?"

"Only vaguely. I think S prefers it that way. But he's dangerous."

"What do you know?"

"Not very much that would help you, I'm afraid. He must have started a few years after the war ended. He began small, just hiding Dark Objects for former Death Eaters who didn't want to lose them in the raids. I don't know how he moved into selling, but he's now the central person. Everything goes through him."

"You don't know anything else at all that might be helpful? Not even what he looks like?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said sincerely. "All I know is that if he's involved, you should be very careful. No one knows who he is, and that kind of anonymity is the best weapon a person can have."

xxxxx

At the end of the day, Harry was back in the Leaky Cauldron, sitting across from Ron and slumped over a Butterbeer.

"You're working with Malfoy?" Ron asked indignantly. "Why?"

Harry sighed, his mind exhausted from the eventful day. "I don't know. I was stuck, and he offered help."

"Are you sure that he's not just doing it to get more gossip out of you?"

"I know that he is. At the end of this, he's going to write an article about what it's like to work with me."

Ron cast him an incredulous glare. "And you're still working with him?"

"I know. I'm going crazy."

"That usually happens to you when Malfoy's involved," Ron muttered under his breath. The comment just barely managed to carry over the crowd.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said hastily. "Nothing at all."

"Good."

There was a pause in their conversation as they both considered Ron's words. When Ron spoke up again, he explained, "It's just that ever since you helped the Malfoys with their trial, you've been even weirder about him than you were before."

"What do you mean 'weirder'? Their trial was years ago."

"Just...weirder. Like you don't hate him."

"I do hate him."

Ron threw his hands up defensively. "I'm just quoting Hermione."

"Hermione would use way more words than that," Harry reminded him. "And she would be a lot more specific."

"Summarizing then."

"Well, she's wrong," Harry countered after trying, and failing, to devise an effective comeback. "Malfoy is the most abominable waste of breath I've ever met."

"I don't know why you're so intent on proving your hatred for Malfoy."

"I'm not trying to prove anything."

"Okay." But he clearly didn't believe Harry. "Look, let's just talk about what you've learned so far. Narcissa's not exaggerating, you know, about how dangerous S is. You need to be careful." Ron confirmed darkly. "We had an inside source who would report to us on S."

"Did you learn anything from the source?"

"We learned plenty until we found him dead with a warning note from S."

"So what do you know?"

"Not much. Every time this S person meets with someone, he looks completely different. Or she. We really don't know anything except that S has a large supply of Polyjuice Potion. Depending on who you ask, S can be tall, short, stout, thin, blond, brunet, freckled, man, woman - anything, really. S has had more faces than we can keep track of, and it makes it impossible for us to know who S is."

"How do people know they're dealing with him?"

"If we knew that, we would have tried to set up a sting ages ago. My best guess is that there's some kind of code. No one we've interrogated has explained it to us though. They'd rather go to jail than betray S. Do you have any other names?"

"Yes. Two actually. Robert Jenkins and William Parker."

"William Parker? Are you sure?

"Yeah. Draco saw them arguing in a bar about S. Why do you look so surprised?"

"You remember how I told you about Graham Davis, the Portkey worker who was murdered?"

"Yeah."

"He and Parker got in a pretty serious bar fight the week before his murder. No one could tell us what started it, but by the end, half their robes were burned and their faces were purple."

"So is Parker one of your main suspects?"

"He was," Ron said slowly. "But it's a bit more complicated now."

"Why?"

"Well, for one, we found Parker's body today. He's been killed too."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry didn't like remembering The Kiss. Thinking about it made The Kiss significant, and it wasn't supposed to be significant. It was only supposed to be a meeting of lips that one might expect after the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol. Malfoy was hardly the first person he had ever kissed. He wasn't even the first bloke. But this was the first time a kiss had been honoured with capitalisation and seared into his memory.

He had never told anyone, not even Hermione. Tear-laden kisses with Cho were one thing, but a drunken decision to launch himself at Draco Malfoy was far more disturbing. Instead, he chose to blame the whole debacle on the hours he'd spent in Draco's company, working with the Malfoy family lawyer to help keep the family out of Azkaban. It was a decision that many questioned, including the large number of Auror recruits he was training with. Even Harry had wondered if he was making a mistake, coming to the aid of a family like the Malfoys. But he had done it to help Narcissa. Whatever her motivations had been at the Battle of Hogwarts, he owed her.

The meetings had been tense at first, the Malfoys grave as they discussed their plans with their lawyer. But as Ron and Hermione spent more time with each other, and Auror training planted early roots of frustration, Harry found himself developing an increasingly comfortable relationship with the Malfoys. They were rebuilding their own family from the wreckage of Voldemort's influence. And though the damage seemed a fitting punishment for their own folly, the more time Harry spent with the Malfoys, the more invested he was in their recovery.

Draco had been understandably grim for most of that time, his face so stony that it seemed like a poor rendering of his features. Everyone had dealt with death that summer, had felt a loss of some kind. But most people had the comfort of friends and victory to celebrate when their grief took pause. Draco had no victory to celebrate, and few friends left who could commiserate with him. The first time Harry saw him smile was when the Ministry decided to not press charges against Pansy Parkinson. Draco's entire body had relaxed, and his lips curved into the slightest indication of satisfaction. It disappeared as soon as Draco realized that Harry was staring. And Harry, embarrassed to have been caught, made a note to be less obvious when searching for another smile.

With the comforting knowledge that one of his best friends would not face the threat of Azkaban, Draco had slowly begun to warm up to Harry. It had started with the trademark awkwardness of forced interaction: curt phrases instead of sentences, and little in the way of eye contact. But eventually, the two had found a way to resume their old enmity, yet with a strange tinge of friendship. With everyone seeing him as a hero beyond reproach, the frustration of having Draco as a friend was somewhat refreshing.

The Kiss had happened after the Malfoys' sentences were handed down. They had been punished - no help from Harry could hide their involvement with Voldemort - and it was always expected that Lucius would have to spend some time in prison. But Draco and Narcissa had been spared a prison sentence, and that was considered enough of a cause for celebration. He and Draco had taken a bottle to the oak tree that was now gone, passing the drink back and forth as they laughed over one man in the Wizengamot whose nose hair extended so far that it resembled a moustache.

Years later, and the stupid memory would still prick at Harry at the most inconvenient times. Of course, there isn't really a convenient time to recall staring at the flushed lips of your long-term enemy, to remember your body's decision to press your lips to his before your mind has had a chance to reject the idea.

There also isn't a convenient time to remember Draco's eager response, pulling Harry onto him as he ran a hand up Harry's neck and through his hair. There wasn't a good time to remember the feeling of Draco's warm chest as Harry pinned him to the cold grass, biting softly at Draco's neck so that he could hear the deep groans vibrate in his throat again and again.

And there was definitely never an opportune time to recall the moment when his mind had finally caught up to the proceedings and compelled him to pull away in shock, stammering, "Um...yeah...er... Okay, I'm going to go now," before he ran away.

But if there was ever a truly inconvenient time to feel the rush of memories send heat through his body and invoke a demanding tightness in his legs, it was when Draco Malfoy was next to him, their bodies so close that Harry could feel the folds of Malfoy's pants scraping against his thighs.

"I still think it's a sex ring," Draco said, piercing through Harry's reverie.

"Huh?" Harry stammered, distinctly uncomfortable with the word "sex" coming out of Draco's mouth given where his mind had just been. "What?"

"Are you even paying attention?"

"Yes. Yes," he shot back frantically. "And no, it's not a sex ring."

Draco looked him over with profound distrust. "Spoken like someone involved in a sex ring."

"Why would a sex ring be smuggling confiscated Dark Objects out of the country? What would they be doing with any of this stuff?"

"If you can't think of a reason to include this cane in your bed," Draco said, pointing at one of the objects on the list, "I'm not sure I want to be in your sex ring."

"That cane can do serious damage. Or did you miss out the part where hitting someone with it hard enough can make them hallucinate an infestation of giant rats?"

"I never thought you'd shy away from a little risk." There was a challenging lilt to his voice that made Harry worry he already was in danger. "Maybe they get turned on by smuggling things," Malfoy added, returning to bland professionalism.

"That doesn't even make sense," Harry contested.

"It's like an adrenaline thing. They get all worked up and have sex."

"Can you just drop the sex thing? Not everything is a sordid sex scandal."

"Shows how much you know." Draco paused at the sight of Harry's frustration. "Okay, fine, Mr. Investigative Journalist, if you know so much about scandals, tell me what's going on."

"So we've got a Wizengamot scribe and a trading standards department member who are probably working together in a smuggling ring. That seems pretty logical. The people in trading standards travel a lot, so that would be a good cover. The scribe not only knows what Dark items are going to be sent to storage, but he's also able to take them out with little suspicion."

"You think Jenkins is just travelling the world with cursed objects? That would get a bit suspicious after a while."

"Unless he's actually this S person and going around the world with a constantly changing identity," Harry noted, "but that doesn't sound right."

"Why would such a careful person show up at a sketchy pub and have a conversation that anyone could see? This S sounds too paranoid to let someone as tacky as Parker know who he is. Besides, none of this explains the Portkey guy."

"Graham Davis."

"Who?"

"The person you keep calling 'Portkey guy.' His name is Graham Davis," Harry reminded Malfoy.

"Okay. Fine. The Portkey guy named Graham Davis," Draco conceded spitefully. "What's his involvement in all this?"

Harry rubbed his temples, frustrated by the lack of clear evidence to draw any conclusion from. "We don't even know if he's involved. Maybe Parker just got angry about the bar fight and killed him."

"But why would they be fighting?" Draco drummed on the table as he shot Harry a contemplative look. Harry looked away, feeling self-conscious under the stare. "Maybe they were lovers," he offered after some silence, "and Parker was angry because Davis was having an affair with his brother."

"Does Parker have a brother?" Harry asked, before realizing how stupid that sounded. "Merlin," he muttered, "why am I even entertaining this theory? Ron's right."

"Right about what?"

"That I shouldn't be spending this much time alone with you."

Harry was conscious again of every fraction of Draco that was against him, their bodies in a proximity that had been once been reserved for schoolyard fights. Or - as he inconveniently remembered at that moment - garden kisses. He pulled his leg away from Malfoy's in a jerky moment that was far too obvious.

He could hear the arrogant smirk in Draco's voice. "We've only been working together for a day, Potter." And before he could protest, the small distance he'd tried to place between him and Draco was made irrelevant. Malfoy had simply closed the gap, and he was closer than he'd been before. A warm hand slid onto Harry's thigh, but it was only part of the problem. He could smell the soap on Draco's skin, the scent clouding his brain as he tried to ignore the way Draco's hand was climbing up his leg. "Don't tell me you're already close to breaking," Draco whispered, the reaction in Harry's body becoming increasingly obvious. "I thought you would last a little longer before you fell to my charms."

He leaned forward, trying to remove Draco from his vision. But even then, he could still see the Malfoy he'd seen that night, laying on the ground, lips full and parted. "You don't have any charms," Harry said, annoyed by the raspy layer that had been added to his voice.

"And yet somehow you fall for me each time." Draco's hand had reached the zipper of his pants, slowly massaging Harry's swollen cock through an unfortunate layer of fabric.

"Stop it," Harry grasped, reaching down and moving Draco's hand away. The skin was so smooth under his palm, and for a second, Harry wanted nothing more than to feel it under lips.

Draco looked barely perturbed. "If that's what you want," he said matter-of-factly as he pulled away.

Harry tried to collect his thoughts, thinking back to the main issue. It was difficult, what with countless images of what he could be doing to Draco instead of working running through his head. The rickety table had been fixed after all - there was no need to make it all the way to the bedroom.

"We need to break into Davis' office." He had no idea where the words came from - probably a false sense of bravado to hide his internal thoughts.

"Look, Potter, maybe you should wait for the blood to return to your brain before you start making ridiculous plans."

"Breaking into the Ministry isn't that ridiculous," Harry retorted. "I've done it loads of times."

"Ah." Draco nodded knowingly. "Looking to relive past glory, are we?"

"Why? Are you too scared?"

Draco grit his teeth in response to the challenge. "Fine, then. Come up with one of your trademark brilliant plans."

xxxxx

"This is the dumbest fucking plan I've ever heard." Draco looked around, checking for the twentieth time that no one else was around. It was Monday, and a tired crowd was passing the alley that he and Harry had chosen to meet in.

"You don't like it because it's simple," Harry snapped back.

"What's the point of tagging along with you if you're not going to subject me to some grand, complicated scheme? Where's the Polyjuice Potion? The goblin insiders who will inevitably betray us?"

"All we need is my Invisibility Cloak." He patted the lump of silky fabric that was hiding inside his jacket.

Malfoy crossed his arms and pouted. "You won't even let me wear it."

"Because you'll just run off with it."

He didn't even try to contest the accusation. "You really think walking through the front door is the best way to do this?" he asked, staring anxiously behind him.

"We're not a bunch of teenagers trying to beat an evil wizard," Harry reassured him. "I think the front door is fine."

"Let's get this over with then," Malfoy said impatiently. "I was in the middle of work when you told me to come over. If I'd know that this was your brilliant plan, I would have just kept working."

"It would be truly tragic if the world went without celebrity shoplifting articles for a day."

He started hurrying towards the main street, Draco following a few feet behind. "Do you know how many Howlers I got today because people were devastated that there was nothing about you?" he complained. "My ears are still ringing. You owe me."

"Add it to my tab." And with that Harry joined the crowd, separating from Draco so that no one saw them together.

When he entered the Ministry, Harry gave a quick smile to the receptionist, who waved him along with a warm welcome. He'd told Ron that he was coming under the guise of last minute wedding preparation. Fortunately, there were enough last minute details to talk, and the cover was convincing - if not exactly pleasing to Mitchell Stevens, the department head. Every few minutes, he poked his head in to remind Ron to get back to work. And every time, Ron would remind him that he was on his lunch break. Sitting in his former workplace, Harry remembered again why he was so happy to not be working there anymore. Especially now that he didn't have to contend with Ministry regulations during his own investigation, Harry was experiencing a rare moment of satisfaction.

Several other Aurors stopped to chat with him. Every conversation earned a jealous glare from Mitchell. He had been chatting with Mitchell's secretary, Mary Flint, when Mitchell had apparently decided that he'd had enough. Stomping over, he summed up all the authority he could muster and demanded that Harry leave. Saying his goodbyes, Harry took the lift down a level and, after making sure no one was around, threw on his Invisibility Cloak. He and Malfoy had agreed that splitting up when they came into the Ministry was the best idea. If they really were on the right trail, it would be best if no one else knew it. Though if Harry were honest with himself, he would admit that the cloak was mostly for old time's sake. Snooping just didn't feel right without it.

Harry silently entered Graham Davis' office, glancing around the room when suddenly, a body collided into his.

"Ow, Potter, is that you?" Draco stepped backwards, gazing at the spot where Harry had just stood.

"Real slick, Malfoy," Harry said, extricating himself from the heap he'd fallen into. "First lesson of sneaking around with an invisible person: don't say their name out loud."

"Second lesson: speaking negates invisibility. Now will you take the damn cloak off and help me find the magic clue? I told the other guy who works here that I'd set him up on a date with the celebrity of his choice if he'd give me this office for fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" Harry asked as he took off the cloak. "That's all you could get?"

"He says that he's got a diplomat to bring in then, and he absolutely has to be here lest there's some kind of international incident. Poor chap, seems like his workload has doubled with Davis gone."

"Yes, that's the real tragedy here. Okay," Harry sighed, glancing around the room, "why don't you take that half of the room, and I'll take this half."

They went to work, sifting through piles of papers that had no doubt been looked through by the Aurors already. "I don't even know what I'm looking for," Draco complained five minutes later. "Maybe this receipt for the Robes Menagerie is important, but maybe it's just a sign of his terrible taste."

"Hey, I like that place. If you go at the end of the month, you can get three jumpers for the price of one."

"Definitely a sign of terrible taste then," confirmed Malfoy, setting the receipt back down on the table. He looked over at Harry, who was looking through a heavy book that he'd grabbed from one of the shelves. "What's that?"

"The Portkey register. It's where they log all the Ministry-instituted Portkeys," Harry explained. He pointed to a few lines of small text. "Here's a few requests here from Jenkins."

"Doesn't seem too out of the ordinary. People in the Ministry like using the Portkeys for group trips so that they don't accidentally lose each other."

Harry grabbed a paper from inside his jacket. It was one of Percy's notes, the list of travel dates for Jenkins and his colleagues. "Look at this," he said, circling his finger around the section of dates corresponding to Jenkins' trips to Copenhagen. "Do you see any trips on these dates? He requested Portkeys those days for himself, but it doesn't seem like he used them."

"Then what are the Portkeys for?'

An idea slowly began to form in Harry's head, pieces fitting together so that he could finally move beyond vague conjecture. "Look at what the Portkeys are."

"A vase. A shoe. A music box. I don't understand what you're trying to get at."

"Say you wanted to move an object without actually being the one to move it, what could you do?"

"I'd Banish it, but I guess that's not going to work here."

"Exactly. You can't just have Dark Objects whizzing their way out of the Ministry and around Europe until they reach their destination. And no Ministry worker is going to want to be caught carrying these objects on them. But what if you had a Portkey that could do the moving for you?"

"Like a vase," Draco said, nodding slowly with comprehension "Or a music box."

"Exactly."

"All these Portkeys were carried out by Davis," Draco noted. "So now we know his connection to Jenkins and Davis."

A harsh sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. The Portkey office was one of the only offices in the hallway, and the likelihood that someone would be entering the room they were in was high. Without talking, Harry and Draco quickly scrambled to put everything in the office back into the place. Just before the unknown person turned around the door, Harry quickly dragged Draco to a corner of the room and threw the cloak over them both.

They shuffled uncomfortably against each other, trying to fit under the cloak without having to squeeze so tight together. The door to the office opened, and Harry tried to turn his attention to whoever had walked in. But it was difficult to make sense of anything when he could feel the buttons of Draco's shirt digging into his skin. He willed himself to focus, recognizing the high voice of Mary Flint looking for someone to help her. But there was a warm breath caressing his cheek, Draco's hands placed gingerly next to his hips - and with their bodies were fitting against each other, Harry's attention was devoted entirely to suppressing the impulse to use his free hand to explore the body in front of him.

Draco had to know how hard this was for him. It had to be the reason why his lips were hovering so close to Harry's neck, why one of his hands was now gripping Harry's waist. And though Harry could hear the gruff voice of a man talking to Mary, who was apparently running an errand for Mitchell, he couldn't concentrate on the conversation for more than a second a time.

He could only feel Draco slowly manoeuvring backwards so that he was pushed against the wall. They moved without separating, their hips maintaining contact in a silent agreement that any distance would be agonizing. When Draco shifted ever so slightly, the small movement sent waves through Harry's groin that compelled him to respond in kind - again and again. The idea that a thin fabric was all that separated him and Draco from discovery made his blood pound harder. Draco's breaths were faster, shallower, as every thrust against each other grew deeper and more desperate. It was a challenge to remain quiet, to not cry out when Draco's lips kissed the base of his ear and slowly sucked the earlobe. The gratifying pain as teeth met skin drew out such an exhalation that Mary turned her head to find the sound. The pressure against Harry's cock was becoming so unbearable. He could feel Draco's erection grinding against his own, and it overwhelmed him with an urge to feel every inch in his hand.

The sound of the door to the office shutting made them both stop, the pause helping some sense return to Harry's brain as he stared at the empty room. Draco pulled himself back, leaving Harry under the cloak. With the light of the office shining on him, the red in his cheeks was pronounced, as was the bulge in his pants. It must have been the haze of what they'd just done that prevented them from hearing the approach of someone else. A brief panic seized Harry when he saw a short man with round glasses enter the room, looking around frantically before realizing that Draco standing right in front of him.

"Hello," Malfoy said with a calm that Harry attributed to a lifetime assuming that he belonged anywhere. He noticed, however, that Malfoy had positioned himself behind a desk, hiding the more physical state of affairs. "Can I help you?"

"No," the strange man said as he edged backwards out the door, "I don't think so."

Draco stared at the man curiously. "Are you Robert Jenkins by any chance?"

"Ye-Yes," the man stammered. "How'd you know that?"

"You have a name-tag on."

"Oh, right." Jenkins laughed loudly, but his eyes darted nervously around the room. "Um, you're that gossip writer for the _Daily Prophet_, right?" he asked when he looked back at Draco. "The one who writes about Harry Potter all the time?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just writing an article about Graham Davis," Draco lied smoothly. "I thought it would be smart to see where he spent so much of his days."

Jenkins looked surprised, an expression that quickly shifted back to anxiety. "That doesn't seem like your kind of article."

"Don't tell anyone, Jenkins," Draco leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "but I'm trying to write more important articles. People are bound to get tired of reading about Harry Potter, aren't they?"

"I don't know." He was fidgeting with a piece of his robe, folding a small patch into tiny squares over and over again. "My wife loves your column. Maybe you should stick to writing gossip."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence. Not everyone sees the importance of my work." Draco grinned and stuck his hand out. Unsure of what to do, Jenkins shook the offered arm. "You know, I was in the middle of an important article when my editor sent me down here. I really should get back to work. Do you need any help with Portkeys? Because I think the worker will be back soon."

Jenkins shook his head. "I'll, um, just come back later." And then just as abruptly as he'd come in, he twirled around and left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry came out of the Ministry, it was just starting to get dark. The brilliant orange-red of the sun was now being taken over by a dark haze of twilight. He had planned with Draco to separate in the Ministry, coming up with a meet-up spot later. But as he looked around their meet-up location, he couldn't see Draco anywhere. Uneasy, he walked towards the main street, but there was no one in sight except for a few men and women wandering around. A small seed of worry began to grow in him, worry that maybe someone had seen Draco and questioned his presence at the Ministry. He was just starting to head back towards the Ministry when he heard a rapid clash of shoes against the pavement coming from behind him.

"Potter!" Malfoy's voice was mildly shrill with what sounded like panic. "Where the bloody hell were you?"

"I was at our meeting spot." Harry pointed at the alley he'd just been in.

"That's not our meeting spot. We were supposed to meet at Agrippa Corner, not Agrippa Alley. See?" Draco stuck out his hand to show Harry the street name scrawled in elegant loops across the palm.

"You wrote down the name of our secret meet-up spot on your hand?"

Draco snatched his hand back. "At least I remembered it," he stated defensively.

"I'm sorry for causing you such worry. As you can see, I am alive and well." They both edged towards the back of the alley, which curved around so that they weren't visible to those on the street.

"I wasn't worried."

"If you say so."

"I wasn't." Draco crossed his arms and glared. But after three seconds of no response, he finally gave in. "Okay, fine. I was worried. I'm sorry that we can't all be cool and collected like our national hero, but my living depends on your ability to be alive and breathing and fucking."

Harry avoided the shiver that ran through him to see Draco's lips form the last word. "You mean that your obsession with my sex life depends on me being alive and breathing and fucking."

"Gossip is a valid way to make a living," Malfoy snapped. "I would attempt to justify it to you, but I'm sure the advantages of my profession would be lost on you even after all it's done for you in this investigation."

"You write baseless gossip that can't bring people anything more than momentary satisfaction."

"You greatly undervalue the entertainment value of your private life."

"Private!" Harry nearly yelled. "P-R-I-V-A-. Oh, whatever"

"With such laziness towards spelling, how are you ever going to be a good reporter?"

"I am a good reporter."

"You're a good investigator," Draco explained. "You're a terrible reporter."

"Are you sure you don't just write all those articles about me to satisfy your own personal curiosity?" Harry blurted out.

A moment of silence passed, during which Draco's narrowed eyes grew stormy. "If you're trying to say something, you should just say it outright. Subtlety really doesn't suit you."

"Forget it," Harry said, turning around so that he could avoid this conversation.

"No." Draco's hand was around his wrist. "You don't get to start things and then just run away. That's not exactly behaviour befitting our golden boy, is it?"

"Does that...kiss...really bother you that much?"

"I think you'll find that most people are not charmed when someone initiates a snog and then ends it with an apology, never to be snogged again."

"Right, because if it was the other way around, you wouldn't have done the same."

"I was there too, Potter. I didn't want it to end." Draco stepped forward, pushing Harry further and further back into a corner. "Tell me," he said, never breaking eye contact with Harry, "what is it about me that gives you so much pause?" He traced a thumb along Harry's bottom lip with a longing look. "You kissed me, and then left. Just a little while ago, we were dry humping against a wall like repressed fifth years, and now you're acting like it never happened."

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry said raspily. "This is getting ridic- "

He didn't finish the thought because at that moment, Draco's hand had managed to slip under the waist of his jeans, teasing its way down until it found the base of Harry's cock. Whatever Harry was about to say turned into a long groan as Draco stroked lightly, as if gauging Harry's response to this initial touch. When Harry leaned his head against the wall, Draco seemed to take it as a sign to keep going. He unbuckled Harry's belt and unzipped the pants, pushing them down just far enough to free his erection from the confines of the garment.

There was still a part of Harry that wanted to point out how absurd the idea of them shagging was. Whether they had been almost friends at one point wasn't going to matter when the reality of their mutual hatred sunk in. But it was hard to make these arguments when Draco was doing such an excellent job stating his own case.

Instead, Harry gave into his own needs, taking Draco's lips against his own. It was a slow kiss at first, a tentative progression as they discovered the taste and feel of the other. But when Harry parted his lips, allowing for something deeper and more demanding, he felt the full force of Draco's desire mixed with his own. This was a kiss he had spent years trying not to think about, trying not to fantasize about. And now here he was, giving into the urgency created by such avoidance.

He moaned louder as Draco's hand went from a languid caress along the length of his cock to a harder stroke, but it was still not nearly enough contact. Harry frantically undid the buttons of Draco's shirt, admiring the bare torso as he flattened his palms over Malfoy's chest. He explored every inch of naked skin, breathless at the beauty of Draco's body. It was so smooth under his hands, like warm velvet. He flicked a thumb across one nipple, savouring the hitch in Draco's breath. But he wanted more. Lowering his head, he ran his tongue in a circle around the nipple before flicking it more abruptly. Harry could swear that he felt Draco's moan in his own body, a vibration that travelled through his bloodstream and enervated every part of him.

He pushed Draco off of him and stepped to the side, a rush of cool air sweeping against his body where the other man had been.

"Don't tell me," Draco said with a look of disappointment that bordered on outright anger, "you're sorry and you're going to run away now."

"Put your hands on the wall."

Malfoy's back straightened, not having expected the order. He didn't say anything though, placing his hands on the wall without protest.

Harry stood behind him, pressing himself against every inch of Draco. He covered Draco's hands with his own before grinding his hips against the curve of Draco's arse. With one hand still pinning Draco in place, Harry his fingers along Draco's parted his lips. He felt Draco's tongue lick a line down the middle finger before taking it in his mouth, sucking the digit with a slowness that was torturous to watch. Fumbling through the fog in his mind, Harry finally managed to unzip Draco's jeans, letting them fall to the ground so that his arse was completely bare before him.

He ran a hand over the soft flesh, grabbing a cheek in one hand before slapping the reddening skin. Draco let out a yelp, but then stuck his arse out further. "Please," he begged. "Don't make me wait."

Harry would have denied that plea, would have tried to torture Draco with a long, drawn-out temptation. But he had no patience to do so right now. He guided a finger, still slick with saliva, into Draco, waiting for the muscles to relax as he worked it further in. It was difficult to restrain himself when the sight of Draco with legs splayed was right in front of him. But Harry tried to be patient, pushing Draco back to the point of begging before he added another finger.

"Is this what you thought it'd be like?" he whispered into Draco's ear while thrusting the fingers deeper. "When you talked to those people about what it was like to fuck me, is this what you imagined?"

Draco didn't respond immediately, still moaning with the movement of Harry's fingers. "Y-yes," he eventually said.

"And this is what you wanted? To be pushed up against a wall so the whole world can see you like this."

"Just you," Malfoy replied quietly, looking back with pleading eyes. "I just need you to see me like this."

Those words destroyed any inhibition he'd had left about what he was about to do. Harry took his wand from his pants and lightly tapped his fingers to lubricate them. Draco's eyes were glazed over with a desperate lust that mirrored Harry's own feelings. He took his own swollen cock and placed the tip along Draco's entrance, slowly easing it in. He thrust slowly at first, but Draco increased the pace of their movements, pushing his arse back so that it slapped deliciously against Harry's hips and balls. Harry matched this, one hand stroking Draco's erection as they pounded harder against each other, their lips clashing against each other as they groaned into each other.

Harry could feel a small bead of sweat forming against the back of his neck as their bodies grazed harder together. His free hand was now gripping onto Draco's, their fingers lacing against rough brick as they got closer and closer to the edge. Draco's fingers tightened against his, and his body shuddered as he reached his release, still pleading for more as Harry continued to thrust.

The final orgasm came in waves that rolled through Harry as he held onto the wall for support. With the return to silence came a sudden awareness of what they had just done, what they had just given into.

"Come on, Potter," Draco said as he pulled his clothes back on. "We have to do this several times if I'm going to give a solid review in the paper."

xxxxx

Harry woke up to the sounds of thuds echoing from outside. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to understand why his bed had silk sheets, and why the floor seemed so empty. He reached over to the nightstand to find his glasses, but his hand collided against a small lamp that shouldn't have been there. It was only when the mattress creaked and he felt a body shift next to him, that he remembered that he was in Draco's flat.

The pounding grew louder and more frequent, and Harry tried to shake Draco awake. Draco responded by pulling the covers over him. "Malfoy!" Harry yelled into his ear. "I think someone's outside."

"Grrhmmmrrmhhhhmm."

Harry swatted his shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

"Then go get the door," came the muffled reply.

He stared sleepily at the floor, debating whether acting as Draco's butler was really worth the effort. The banging seemed to stop as soon as Harry had gotten out of bed. But since he was already awake, he decided to go see what was happening. Most of his clothes seemed to have been relegated to the area just outside of Draco's room. He had just put on his boxers and t-shirt when he heard a booming sound that was much louder than the original thuds. Still unable to see what was happening, he quickly grabbed a wand protruding from a pair of jeans on the ground and edged carefully down the hallway.

He could hear two men, their heavy boots clomping gracelessly through the front of the apartment. One man turned to the other and gruffly asked, "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Be quiet will ye'. You're going to wake up the whole bloody house," replied his compatriot, his hushed voice still loud enough for Harry to hear.

"It's only one man, and a spoiled Malfoy at that," the first man replied, refusing to lower his volume. "I think we can take him just fine." From the pacing of his steps, he sounded taller than the other man.

"Just shut up."

Harry snuck quietly into the kitchen, the balls of his feet just barely grazing the floor as he stepped along the tile. Hoping that Draco wouldn't choose this moment to wake up and give his position away, Harry edged along a wall away from the view of the two men until he was at the corner closest to them. He tried to gauge their location. It was easier to find the taller man, whose loud steps and voice made him easy to place. He was coming closer to the kitchen, loudly muttering about Draco's choice of decor. Harry waited until he was closer, then quickly turned around the corner and shot a Stunning Spell towards the man before turning back to his hiding place.

There was a satisfying crash as the spell hit its mark, the man crashing to the ground. But while Harry had gotten a brief glimpse of a squat, blond man next to the window, checking to see if anyone was outside, he had no idea where the man would be now. Counting to three in his head, Harry passed around the corner again, a Shield Charm up just in time to deflect a curse aimed towards his head

He responded quickly, a burst of blue-white light shooting from the wand as he ducked behind a couch. There was a bang that burst the couch in two, but Harry's shot back immediately with a curse that made the man's knees buckle. They were still sending curses each other's way, loud flashes of light that just barely grazed elbows or scraped shoulders. But finally, one landed on the stranger's chest, immobilizing him as he keeled over.

"What's all the ruckus?" Draco was standing at the kitchen, stark naked as he kicked over the first man Harry had stunned.

Harry was panting from a squatted position, examining his arms for any leftover curses. "Are you just going to stare, or will you help me?"

"I would," Malfoy said, heading over to Harry's location, "but you have my wand."

Harry glanced down and saw that was indeed holding on to Draco's wand. Tossing it over, he said, "Watch these two. I'm going to send a message to Ron to get down here and take care of these guys. It sounded like they were coming for you - do you know why?"

"I get my share of hate mail," Draco admitted, handing over a small container of Floo Powder, "but this would be the first time someone has tried to kill me over anything I write."

"What about Jenkins? Maybe he's a bit suspicious after yesterday."

"He must be getting scared," said Draco. "Remember how I told him that I knew his name because he was wearing a name-tag?"

"Yes."

Draco was busy propping up the two men and searching their pockets for any indication of who they were. "He wasn't wearing a name-tag. He was just so flustered that he didn't know what to pay attention to. I just guessed he was Jenkins because he was there and looked desperate."

"It seemed like he was looking for something. My money would be on the register."

Draco had propped the two men up in the kitchen and grabbed their wands. Glancing over the table, he picked up a silver envelope and smiled as he read over the letter inside. "We might be able to find out soon enough."

"How are we going to do that?"

Draco waved the envelope, the Malfoy crest visible in the bottom corner. "We've got leverage."

xxxxx

Robert Jenkins did not seem happy to have been dragged down to Draco's apartment. Sitting in the small wreckage of the morning's fight, his legs shook up and down, and he seemed to be looking towards the exit in hopes of a quick escape. But Harry stood there with his wand at the ready, prepared to block his way.

"What's he doing here?" Jenkins asked, glaring at Harry's wand.

Draco was sitting down, legs and arms crossed with a cold look of disdain spelled across his face. "He happened to be in the area this morning for your little stunt."

"Stunt?" Jenkin gulped audibly. "What stunt?"

"Look, I'm a Malfoy. I know a little bit about trying to intimidate people into doing what you want. And I also know that when you send some thugs to try and scare people, the more expensive ones are usually worth it. They don't do dumb things like carry their client's names in their pocket." He showed a small slip of paper that he'd gotten from the taller invader. His own address was written on it, and scrawled across the top was, "JENKINS-PAID."

Jenkins leaped out of the chair and tried to make a break for it, but with a bang from Harry's wand, he was quickly immobilized. Harry didn't remove the spell until he'd successfully bound Jenkins to the chair.

"Let's try this again," Draco continued. "I know what you've been up to. I know what you've been doing."

"I'll pay you! I promise!" Jenkins cried out. "I'll do anything. Don't tell anyone about the smuggling, please!"

"Oh, I'm not talking about the smuggling."

"You're not?"

"No," Malfoy said with an arrogant, all-knowing calm. "We'll get to that later. We're going to talk about Elizabeth Martin first."

"Wh-who?"

"I was wondering what you've been doing with all your newfound wealth. It's obvious that Parker took full advantage of it, but you seemed to be laying low. But I know people who know people who know Elizabeth Martin."

"I still don't know who you're talking about."

"Really?" Draco said sceptically. "Doesn't she work at The Witch's Noose? Isn't that one of your favourite pubs? I find it hard to believe that you wouldn't know the name of someone who works at a pub you go to every night after work."

"I-I remember her now. She's a tall girl right? With red hair and the phoenix tattoo? Graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago?"

"Ah, so you do remember her." Malfoy grabbed the letter he'd received earlier, and read through it again. "It says here that Elizabeth has suddenly found the financial resources to move from a grimy, shared flat to something a bit more palatial. I wonder how she managed to do that on such a meagre salary."

Jenkins gulped again, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat. "Maybe she saved up."

"Enough to also buy a new broomstick, designer robes, and a shiny diamond ring?"

"I don't know what you're trying to imply."

"You know exactly what I'm trying to imply." Draco grabbed a parchment and quill, readying them on the coffee table in front of him. "You've been using the profits from your little side business to get yourself a new girlfriend. It's so romantic. Does your wife know about it?"

Jenkins didn't respond, but at the mention of his wife, he looked horrified.

"I'm practically writing the story as we speak," Draco said, scribbling notes on the parchment. "Ministry official is unhappy with marriage. Ministry official decides to solve his mid-life crisis using his dick. Ministry official finds barmaid and promises her the world and a Galleon. It really is a good story, don't you think, Harry?"

"I'd read it," Harry answered.

"See, he would read it. And he usually hates my column."

"You don't have any proof." Jenkins' voice quivered. "All you have is that letter."

"I write gossip. No one reads my column for the proof," Draco said breezily. "You said your wife likes my column, right? I'm sure she'd love to read all about it."

Jenkins made an attempt to jump out of his seat, but with the spell still keeping him immobilized, all he managed was to jerk his neck towards Draco. "You can't write that! You can't just ruin my life like that!"

"I'm sorry, you sent a bunch of thugs into my flat. I think we're past the point where I have to worry about your well-being. But I'm willing to make a deal with you."

"Anything! I'll do anything."

"You're going to tell Mr. Harry Potter everything about your smuggling enterprise so that he can write about it for _The Quibbler."_

"I can't do that! I can't have people know."

"You don't seem to understand this," said Draco, threat working its way into his tone. "You shouldn't think of Harry and me as people, but as choices. You can be featured in his newspaper or mine. But I should warn you, mine has more readers."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "Can we can threaten the guy without insulting me, please?"

"Fine. Look, Mr. Jenkins, you can go down as a badass smuggler or as a philandering wanker," Draco explained again. "Which one will it be?"

Harry and Draco both had parchments out now, ready to write. Jenkins' eyes shifted between the two of them, their stoic faces driving his dilemma.

"Davis was the one who thought of the plan," he finally started. "He was running all these Portkeys, and he just started wondering whether or not he could use that to move things in and out of the Ministry. We sort of became friends after having to spend so much time together getting Portkeys ready for different trade meetings. And one day, we were sitting at The Witch's Noose, complaining about money, when he said that he had an idea to get rich. He just needed some help."

"And that's how you and Parker came in," Harry completed.

"Exactly. He knew Parker from his school days. Parker would sit in the Wizengamot and hear all these cases against former Death Eaters or other people who were found with illegal objects in their homes. He'd come in with lists of items that might be interesting to buyers, and he could get the objects out of evidence storage without raising suspicion. He was always moving things in and out of there for different cases."

"And you were responsible for getting buyers?"

"That and then acting as the guise for the objects. Graham would stash the objects in the Portkeys, and I would throw them away in certain places for our contacts to pick up. Later, Davis figured out how to make the Portkeys travel without a person touching them so I didn't have to transport everything. That meant we could sell to even more people."

"How did you manage to erase the Ministry records?"

"We didn't. That's how we got found out."

"You were discovered?" asked Draco.

Jenkins nodded. "By S. I don't know who S is, but he showed us the log with the missing objects still listed. He knew who we'd sold them to and somehow backtracked it to us."

"So what did S do?"

"He gave us a choice: either we could work for him, or he would expose us."

Harry was furiously scribbling Jenkins' story down. Luna kept recommended a Quick-Quotes quill, but they reminded him too much of Rita Skeeter. He didn't usually have so many compelling details to record either. "I assume you chose to work for him?"

"Of course. He didn't make us change much. Told us that we had a pretty good thing set up. The only difference was that he told us not to worry about the records anymore. Somehow, he was erasing them so we wouldn't have to worry about people realizing they were gone."

"You don't know how though?"

"No idea. The only people who have the kind of access to change records in evidence storage are the record-keepers and Aurors."

At that, a far-fetched idea began to form in Harry's head, but he didn't want to vocalize it when Jenkins was still there. Instead, he asked, "So what were you looking for in Graham's office?" He knew the answer, but hoped that asking a broader question would get him more information.

"The Portkey register. I was worried that if the Aurors started looking through it, they might be able to connect me to Graham and Parker's death. But I guess you have it now."

"You think we have the Portkey register?" The question came from Draco, who was rubbing the feather of his quill against his chin.

"Don't you? When I went back to look for the register, I couldn't find it. I thought you must have taken it."

"Is that why you had your Rent-a-Thugs come here? To find the book and get rid of me so that you cover up your crimes?"

"Sorry. I just assumed..."

"Did you kill Parker and Davis?"

"NO!" Jenkins cried out. Lowering his voice, he added, "I think S did."

"Why would S kill them?"

"Because Graham was asking for a larger cut of the profits. The last time we met, they got in a big fight about it. Graham said that the whole operation started with him, so he should be given more money. Parker sided with him. The both of them just wanted more money, and S was not happy about it."

"Unhappy enough to kill Graham?"

"Graham can get pretty hot-headed when things don't go his way. He made some pretty serious threats. I told him to stop, but he just kept going. The next day, I found out that he was dead."

Draco chimed in then. "So that's what you and Parker were fighting about in Hags Inn?"

"You know about that?" Snorting, Jenkins continued, "Of course you know about that. Yeah, he said that we should take a stand, try to take on S in a fight or something. I told him that was going to get us killed, but I guess he didn't listen to me."

They kept talking to Jenkins for another hour, trying to flesh out the minute details of the enterprise. By the end of the conversation, Harry had enough solid fact to make up an entire article. Jenkins had even provided a full list of the objects they had stolen along with the different countries he had taken them to.

They let Jenkins leave only after explaining that both Draco and Harry's articles would be written and stored in a secret place by the end of the night. If he came after either of them, both articles would be published, and he would have to face the consequences of all of his secrets being publicized across two newspapers.

"You have an idea, don't you?" Draco asked after he closed the door. "You always get so jumpy in your seat when you think you know something."

"I don't know, it's a bit hard to believe."

"Just shoot, Potter. I'll probably hate it no matter what."

"I was just thinking about what Jenkins said, that the Aurors have the access needed to change records? We never had the sort of access though."

"You didn't? I just assumed you guys could do anything."

"No, it was this huge process where we had to place a request with the Head Auror, who would send the request to his secretary, who would look it over and then send it back to the Head Auror. In the end, it's the Head Auror who has the power to change records."

"You can't be saying that Stevens is involved. I know your first instinct is to accuse the people you hate the most, but he's Head Auror!"

"I don't hate him. I just think he's a lousy, power-hungry Auror. Think about it - his secretary was in the Portkey Office when we were there. Maybe he had her get the register for him. Maybe he's trying to cover his tracks. And Ron said that Mitchell's been against him looking into the stolen objects this whole time. I mean, seriously," Harry exclaimed, "his last name even starts with an S."

"What's your plan then? We can't just march into the office of the Head Auror and accuse him of this much criminal activity."

"Well, then," Harry stated, "I guess we have more work to do.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the week, Draco and Harry tried to uncover the details of Mitchell Stevens, but it was proving to be difficult. Narcissa had nothing except a flying-while-drinking charge from when he was still a student. But after the frustration of each day, the pair of them found a convenient way to relieve their tension. It was something they never talked about. They simply recognized when the other had reached the end of their mental capacity, taking it as a sign that they should move on to the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the living room. Or wherever, really. It was frightening that this was the most commitment Harry had shown to one person in years. Perhaps when this was all over, he would be able to return to his normal ways. Maybe this would even be enough for him finally erase The Kiss from his memory.

But each night, as he felt Draco's chest rise and fall next to him, he worried that this would only create a bigger need, one that no amount of one night stands with random strangers would satisfy. Being with Draco was difficult, yet it was easier than being with anyone else. Draco didn't worship him, didn't seem driven by a need to sleep with the Boy Who Lived. No, Draco seemed to just want him. Harry tried to not think too long on it, afraid to find himself invested in a feeling that would become irrelevant as soon as the investigation was over. It was why he never talked to Draco about what they were doing: he was worried that it would lead to the end of something that might not even be real.

On Thursday, after two days of making no headway, Draco and Harry both decided it was time to take a risk. They invited Mary Flint over to Harry's apartment in the hopes that the secretary to the Head Auror might be able to help them.

"I really don't know what you think I might know," she said timidly, fidgeting with her ponytail. "I just file his paperwork and run errands. I don't know anything about what he does."

"That's okay," Harry reassured her. "We just want to ask some questions."

"Are you sure it's even him? Maybe all of this is just a big misunderstanding."

"We're not sure. That's why we're trying to find out more about him, and you probably know more about him than anyone else."

Mary bit her lip, her forehead wrinkling with concern. She had been a new employee when Harry left the Ministry, but in the times that he had talked to her, she had always seemed like a sweet young woman - if a bit easily spooked. "I just don't want to betray him or anything. He's my boss, after all."

"Look, Mary," Draco said in a soothing voice, leaning forward and resting a hand on hers, "we're not going to write anything you tell us unless it proves that he's involved. And even then, we'll make sure no one knows that you told us anything. I swear."

Mary took a sip of water, but despite Draco's words, she did not look any less nervous than before. "What do you want to know then?"

"Did Mitchell ask you to get the Portkey register for him?" Harry asked.

"Ye-yeah," she replied. "He had me go on Monday."

"Is it for the Graham Davis investigation?"

"I think so, but he hasn't given it to Ron yet to look at." She paused as she considered her words. "It's weird - he wanted it urgently on Monday, but since then, it's just been sitting on his desk."

"Has he said anything about the case?"

She shook her head. "He really thought Parker killed Davis. Said it had to just be a pub fight that got out of control."

"What does he think about Parker's death?"

"Thinks it's either suicide or one of Davis' family getting revenge."

"If that's his theory," Draco said, "why is he taking the Portkey register and hiding it?"

"Maybe he just wants everyone to be on the wrong track while he hides the evidence," Harry considered. "I mean, he can tell Ron to not worry about some missing Dark objects, but he can't tell him to ignore a dead Ministry worker. So instead, he's just trying to lead them on the wrong track."

"Dark objects?" Mary asked, raising her head. "Is that what you think this is about?"

"Does that mean anything to you?"

"He's been going down into evidence storage a lot more than he used to. He said that it's because after Roger Thomas' scare there, he needs to take care of the things down there personally."

"He does like to micromanage the smaller tasks," Harry said, trying to see just how well his theory held up. "It's not unlike him to take on a simple errand so that he looks busy and important. Sorry," he told Mary, seeing her failed attempt to suppress a smile. "I don't mean to insult your boss."

"No, no," she said, looking a bit less scared as she laughed, her shoulders relaxing. "It's true. You know, he used to work on a lot of smuggling cases."

"Really?" Harry tried to think back to when he was working at the Ministry. "I thought he mostly worked on kidnappings."

"He did, but the switched over." Then, still seeing Harry's confusion, she clarified, "This was after you left."

"That's a decent case against him," Draco said. "He could have switched over just to learn all the tricks of the trade."

"Maybe," Harry said with some reluctance. "It's still not enough. We just have some circumstantial evidence that he might be trying to cover up a crime. That doesn't make him this S person."

"S?" Mary was staring at them now, her blue eyes wide in astonishment. "You think he might be S?"

"It's starting to look that way," explained Draco. "But we don't know for sure."

"I wish I had more to help you," she said plaintively. "I told you that I probably wouldn't be much assistance."

"No, no," Harry replied insistently. "You've been a huge help."

She smiled hesitantly. "If you need anything else, you should ask me. You know, we all miss you at the office." She leaned forward. "Don't tell anyone I told you," she said with an embarrassed giggle, "but I was hoping you would be Head Auror instead of Mitchell."

"I think we'd all feel safer if that was the case," Draco pointed out. Harry felt a heat creep into his own face at the unexpected compliment.

"You'll be at Ron's wedding this weekend, right?" Mary asked as she got up from the table. "Oh, I'm being silly. Of course you'll be at the wedding. But what about you?" she asked Draco. Both Draco and Harry snorted out loud before realizing that Mary was completely sincere.

"Oh, no," Draco answered politely. "I expect my invitation got lost before it could get to me."

"No! You should come!" Her face was radiating with sympathy. "Hermione is going to look so beautiful, I'm sure of it. It must have been so romantic, Harry, to watch them fall in love. To travel and fight Voldemort while they struggled with their emotions for one another." She sighed like a young girl contemplating her first love, but her expression quickly grew worried. "Mitchell will be there. Is that bad?"

Harry and Draco glanced at each other uneasily. "I think it should be okay," Harry said, making a mental note to let Ron know that he might need to watch out.

"I'm devastated that I'll be missing this," Draco said flatly.

But Mary missed the sarcasm. "You should come with me!" Her face lit up with excitement. "I was going to go with my boyfriend, but since he dumped me last week..." The happiness of a second ago turned into a sad, pleading look that would move even Filch's heart.

Draco looked uncomfortable, shifting from leg to leg as he considered whether or not to let down the poor girl. "I guess I'll go," he finally said in a thin voice. "We might need to warn the Weasleys before so they don't curse me when I walk in."

Mary's face instantly brightened again, and she clapped happily. "I'm so excited! This is going to be so much fun!"

"Right..." Draco replied uneasily. "Fun..."

xxxxx

It was a surreal experience for Harry to watch his two oldest friends get married. Ron had spent the morning in a mess, scrambling to deal with his tux while calming down his mother, who was terrified that the wedding cake wouldn't arrive in time. Mr. Granger and Mr. Weasley merely waited on the sidelines, debating the merits of airplanes over broomsticks. When the moment came, Harry was relieved to find that everything went perfectly. He stood at the altar with Ron, exchanging excited smiles until Hermione appeared at the top of the aisle. Mary had been right to expect that she would look beautiful.

Draco spent the ceremony with a blank expression on his face. It wasn't a cold one, and in fact, he'd been nothing but friendly and polite with the Weasleys since he'd shown up. Watching him from afar, Harry was struck by how much Draco seemed to have changed, not just from when they had first met at Hogwarts, but from when the war had ended. For all that he still found frustrating about working with Draco, he also found their bickering was more out of tradition than real hatred. And as he watched Ron and Hermione look at each other with so much warmth, he was struck by the feeling that Draco was the one person who hadn't grown up and away from him.

Throughout the reception, Harry felt himself being dragged around by various members of the Weasley family or by people who were curious to learn more about the couple from the one who had been there to witness it all. There also were a few sly offers for post-reception shags. He turned them all down politely, much to the confusion of those who were dedicated readers of Draco's column.

When the music started, Harry finally managed to escape through a small gap in the crowd. He needed a break from the crowd lest the, "So when are you getting married?" questions reach a critical level of aggravation. He ambled idly, letting the fresh air cool his head. There was a small clearing that was still close enough to the party to hear the commotion, but far enough to feel a moment of relief. He sat down, letting his mind clear as he stared at the night sky. He didn't notice that Draco was behind him at first, but when he felt a warm body sit down next to him, he knew who it was without having to look.

"I brought you some Butterbeer," Draco offered. "You looked like you needed it."

"Shouldn't you be inside? Mary will be devastated if she doesn't get the chance to dance with you."

"We had a few dances, but I think she ran off to take some shots. Weddings bring out the desperation in all of us."

Harry turned to look at Draco, his hair shining under the bright lights in the sky. "You don't feel desperate, do you?" he asked softly. "You're Draco Malfoy."

"And you're Harry Potter. Yet here you are, evading wedding parties while considering the meaning of your existence."

"Are you planning to include this in your article? An expose on my quarter-life crisis?"

"Don't worry, I'll keep your adult angst our little secret." Draco stared at him, but it was a soft look that made Harry feel suffocated with longing. "I always thought that someone like you would come out of Hogwarts knowing exactly what he's doing with his life."

"I think everyone expected that. But it's a lot easier to be purposeful when there's a prophecy telling you what your purpose is."

"You don't feel relieved to not have the future of the Wizarding World rest on your shoulders?"

"Of course I'm relieved," Harry explained. "But it's just easy to get a bit...lost."

"You haven't seemed lost this past week."

Harry laughed until he realized that Draco was serious. "Are you trying to be nice to me?"

"Maybe," Draco said, reaching out and wiping a speck off Harry's cheek with his thumb. The action made Harry's heart skip a beat, and he resisted the urge to lean over and rest his head on Draco's shoulder.

"It's been nice to have something that feels satisfying," Harry admitted, not entirely sure if he was talking about the investigation or Draco. "I have to thank you, I guess."

"You really don't. I wanted to do this."

"I might even miss you when this is all over. Until you start writing about me again."

Draco reached forward after Harry said that, placing his hand on Harry's chin so that he could turn it. He laid a gentle kiss on Harry's lips, a kiss that demanded nothing and yet said everything.

"What was that for?" Harry asked when Draco pulled away. Their faces were still close, the tip of Draco's nose grazing against his own.

"What do you mean? We've been doing this all week."

"Yeah, but that was different. That was more..." Every word Harry tried to think of to complete the sentence sounded inadequate.

"You really need to get better with words if you're going to be a good reporter."

"Then why don't you tell me what you're trying to say?"

Draco moved his body so that he was straddling Harry, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck. "What I'm trying to say, Harry," Draco said, kissing Harry's cheek, "is that I'll miss you too."

"Don't worry, you'll be able to live through your sources." There was a faint scent of bitterness in his words, remembering that a return to the status quo meant a return to everything that made him and Malfoy a preposterous pairing.

But Draco just pressed his lips to Harry's other cheek. "I think that's lost its appeal." He pushed Harry back onto the grass, gazing into his eyes for a few seconds before kissing Harry with a ferocity that was eagerly reciprocated. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him in tight so that he could feel the heat of their bodies along every centimetre. He had no idea what it was he wanted from this except Draco. That whatever logic he knew was lacking in all this, Draco somehow fit into what he wanted his world to be.

Draco lifted his body out of Harry's arms, pulling away despite Harry's protests. There was a gleam of silver light on him that shone off his hair and made him appear illuminated. Piece by piece, Draco removed his clothing, a slow, teasing show that made Harry breathless as Draco let a hand tease down his chest and further down until they finally reached his pants. He peeled them off, his entire naked body awash in moonlight. He worked more quickly on Harry's clothes, quickly tossing aside the shirt and tie so that Harry felt the cold grass against his back. Draco's cock was hard against his own, and they slid against each other, groaning as the friction between them ignited something deeper.

Draco's lips were at his neck, exploring a path that seemed designed to elicit the loudest gasps and the longest moans. Harry's hands were exploring the muscle down Draco's side and scraping faintly into the pale thighs. He felt Draco's erection twitch against his own, and then a louder cry from Draco's lips as Harry wrapped a hand around both of their cocks. He led a slow, deliberate stroke against both of them, their cocks sliding against each other. Draco rested his head on Harry's chest while he breathed deeply through each stroke. Harry only let go when Draco began to press his way further down his body, hands and lips caressing Harry's abdomen and then insisting onwards until Draco's lips were tracing along his hipbone, tongue caressing the same line.

Harry felt the cold drop of spittle on the top of his cock that Draco stroked along the entire length, the slick heat of each pass building up inside of him. When he felt Draco's lips against the base, Harry's hips bucked involuntarily. He was so engaged in the sensation of his cock in Draco's mouth that he didn't realize at first that one of Draco's hands was playing with his own arsehole. When he caught sight, Harry couldn't look away. Sitting up for a better view, he watched as one finger slid in and out, Draco driving his arse back in a rhythm complicit with his lips moving along Harry's cock.

Harry wrapped his hands demandingly in Draco's hair, his cock going deeper into the other man's mouth until it reached the back of his throat. Harry cried out as Draco persisted with this movement, and then responded by slipping another finger inside of him, the moan vibrating in his throat along Harry's length. He ran a hand down Draco's back, wanting to touch and watch and taste every bump and valley along the way, but settling for what he had at that moment. Lubricating his fingers, he moved Draco's hand aside and slid them into the now-slick hole. Draco continued thrusting backwards at the same rhythm as before, but his groans were louder. Harry could feel Draco's pleasure along every inch of his lower body, taking in every shudder as he passed his fingers in and out at a slowly increasing pace.

Draco's hand was now wrapped around his cock as well, stroking desperately with each thrust of Harry's fingers inside him. The sight was too much for Harry to resist, and Harry felt his orgasm overtake him as he cried out Draco's name. He was still working his fingers inside Draco, lifting himself to get better leverage as he heard the unmuffled moans. He caught Draco's lips in one last searing kiss before he felt Draco's hips thrust forward and he began to pant heavily, trying to regain his breath.

They lay silent in the grass, Draco's head resting lightly upon Harry as his arm wrapped around. His breathing tickled the bare skin of Harry's chest, and Harry absently realized that lying with Draco was becoming pleasantly familiar. He knew what position Draco preferred to sleep in and how he shifted before falling asleep. And he was beginning to memorize the feel of Draco's body lying across his own.

"We should go back soon," Malfoy noted reluctantly after several minutes of this restful silence. "Your friends are going to miss you."

Reluctantly, Harry agreed that he was right. They had just gotten their clothes on when a loud scream pierced through the night. Draco and Harry both reacted immediately, wands out as they tried to find where the sound came from. About 400 meters away, they saw a small figure dashing through a row of trees. They sprinted to the person as a small crowd came out of the wedding tents. As they got closer, they saw Mary, her face aghast with fright.

When she realized who they were, she ran over to Harry and jumped into his arms.

"Mit-mit-mitchell!" she cried out, her eyes wide.

"What happened?" Draco asked. "What happened to Mitchell?"

She just pointed towards the trees, adding nothing to her description. The wedding party was closer now, and when Ron saw Mary's distress, he told the party to stand back and grabbed a small group of Aurors to go with him. Hermione took Mary, wrapping a sweater around the shivering woman.

Harry and Draco followed the Aurors, their wands still ready. The area was dark, covered with the shade of vast trees. Using the light from his wand, Harry tried to find what Mary had seen. His light finally hit upon a lone figure whose right hand was aloft with a wand. It was only when he lowered his wand that Harry saw the motionless body on the ground. It was Jenkins.

"Mitchell?" he said with trepidation.

The standing figure turned suddenly, a stunned look on his features. He stumbled backwards, moving his wand from his current hand to the other and raising one of his arms to block the light of all the wands. "He attacked me," he cried out. "This guy just came out of nowhere and attacked me."

"Put down your wand, Mitchell," commanded one of the Aurors.

"He just attacked me!" Mitchell repeated again.

One of the Aurors disarmed him, his wand flying in an arc towards the group. The Auror performed _Priori Incantatem, _a flash of green erupting from the tip. Even Mitchell could tell that this wasn't good for him, staring uncertainly at his colleagues.

The case against him became worse when Mary related what she'd seen to Hermione. She'd been waiting in the trees for a rendezvous she'd planned with one of the guests, but she had heard voices arguing. She recognized one of them as Mitchell, but the other was unfamiliar. The only reason it stood out to her was because he kept referring to Mitchell as "S." The unknown man said he'd figured it out, that Mitchell was the only one who could be S because only a Head Auror could do what he'd done. He had accused Mitchell, or S, of killing Graham Davis and William Parker. He threatened to expose Mitchell, to show everyone what he was really up to. And that was when the curses had started. They had fought for only a few seconds before Mitchell shot the Killing Curse and Jenkins fell in a crumpled heap. That was when Mary screamed.

Mitchell stayed quiet as a group of Aurors went off with him. The wedding party was now in a large crowd outside the crime scene. Harry ignored them, trying to mull over what he had just seen. He remembered something small that he'd seen only a few minutes before, something he had only just understood. Leaving the crowd, Harry turned and moved silently, walking back towards the wedding tents. They were completely deserted except for Mary, who was sitting hunched in a chair. She still had a sweater wrapped around her.

"Hey," she said, smiling slightly through a weary look. "Is everything okay? Did they get him?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "It looks like they got S."

"I can't believe he did it though." She shook her head in disbelief, her large, blue eyes wet with unshed tears. She rubbed her shoulders for warmth, and her voice cracked as she kept talking. "I mean, he just seemed so normal, right? How does someone like that just go and kill people?"

"You never know with people. They can surprise you."

"I guess you're right."

"You know what I find most surprising though?" he began to ask her. "You're his secretary. You know everything about him, right?"

"Obviously, I didn't," she said with regret.

"Did you know that Mitchell is left-handed?"

She looked at him total confusion. "What?"

"Yeah, I remember during training, we switched his ink to a version that wasn't non-smear. He had black all down the side of hand that day. I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"It's not something I had to keep track of."

"No, I suppose not." Harry nodded. "It's just weird though because if I were trying to frame someone for murder by using his wand to cast a Killing Curse, I would make sure to put the wand back in his actual wand-hand. It's a bit suspicious when he's found with the wand in the wrong hand and has to switch it. But I guess you're lucky that he was too shocked to understand what was happening. And no one else seemed to notice it."

Mary surveyed him carefully, her eyes raking up and down as if calculating her next move. The effect of his words slowly began to take effect, and the excitable secretary he'd been talking to morphed into something different. Her body straightened and she crossed her legs; her eyes turned from warm innocence to something much icier. Her lips cocked into a congratulatory smirk. "You'd think an Auror would be less easy to Confund," she said. Even her voice had changed from the high-pitched sweetness to something lower and silkier. "But I guess Mitchell's never been a particularly capable Auror to begin with. It's been good for business, you know, having him in charge instead of you."

"I suppose that I am currently having the honour of talking to the actual S?"

"My name is Selena. Selena Armstrong." Selena extended her arm, but Harry refused to shake it. "Oh, come on, I won't bite," she added, shaking her arm towards him. Harry still refused.

"So this is who you actually are?" he asked. ÒAll the Polyjuice Potions you take to meet with people and hide your identity - and you're really just a secretary?"

"No, I'm really a successful black market dealer. Secretary is just a thing I do to improve business. You should see all the things I get to do just by saying that Mitchell needs it done. I can get the Portkey register and hide it in my boss' desk; fill out requests to remove confiscated items from the records without question; change the records myself - and all because I have a boss who is too lazy to do these things on his own."

"So most everything you told us was a lie to get to tonight? So that you could take care of Jenkins and successfully pass all three murders off onto Mitchell?"

"It was just so easy that I had to do it," she explained, leaning back and crossing her legs. Looking at her now, Harry could hardly believe that Selena had ever been Mary Flint. The transformation was astounding, manifesting in the slightest of details. "Jenkins is so easy to Imperius. Getting him to storm down and rain down accusations on Mitchell was easy. Getting Mitchell out there was easy. Confunding Mitchell half-way through their little fight was easy. Taking his wand and killing Mitchell was easy. All of it was just so easy. You were easy, Draco was easy, everyone is just so easy - especially when you're a sweet little girl like Mary Flint." She smiled with a glint of cruel satisfaction.

"You seem awfully relaxed for a woman confessing her crimes."

"I know I can't Apparate right now. The Ministry has this place on lockdown, and there's no way I'm going anywhere. But you're the only person who has seen through silly little Mary Flint, and even if you are everyone's hero, I doubt any accusation you levy my way will be able to overcome the plight of sweet, young Mary. You'd be surprised by what a few tears can do to sway people's opinion my way."

"You think your tears will be that powerful when everyone's picking at the holes in the Mitchell-as-S theory?"

"I admit that I'm a bit offended that you thought Mitchell was capable of anything that I've done. But yes, I'd bet on people picking my tears over the boy who lived. Your heroism is old and stale, and an innocent girl who gives someone else the chance to be the hero can be so much more persuasive." Then with a swift movement, she pulled out her wand and surprised Harry with flash of purple that hit his shoulder. He barely avoided it, though it managed to tinge a small strip of his jacket. Selena shot spell after spell at him, barely giving him time to respond. He managed to duck and weave his way through the hexes and finally land one on her. A small fire burned at the corner of her dress, and she stared at it with rage growing in her eyes. She raised her arm to shoot another curse, and Harry was just getting read to put up a Shield Charm when -

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Selena's wand flew across the room, landing squarely in Draco's hand. She crashed in a heap under a table, suddenly losing the dignity associated with an international criminal. "That's a handy spell," Draco said to Harry as he looked between the dishevelled figures. "I can see why you like it so much."

"Well, boys," George said later, clapping them both on the shoulder as they watched Aurors lead a bound Selena away from the tent. "I think this has been the best wedding yet." In the background, Mrs. Weasley was sobbing to one of her friends about how she just wanted one wedding that didn't end with Death Eaters or smugglers.

"Yeah," Harry said, running through a list of all that had passed through the eventful night. There was so much to do, so much to write. But first, he needed to go home and shag Draco properly. "I guess it has been the best."

xxxxx  
_  
__**LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HE'S TAKEN **_

_I know, I know. The thought of a Harry Potter who flosses his teeth and doesn't shag strangers in bathrooms is almost too tragic to think of, but I promise you all, it is for the best. I hope you've all read his recent adventures taking down the biggest smuggling ring in Europe by now. If you haven't, I hope it's because_

_The Quibblerhas been sold out. Frankly, I think it's about time. Let's admit it, we were all getting a bit bored of hearing the rave reviews. No matter how accurate, it makes for such dull reading. But maybe this is the return to form we all need out of our little hero. Besides, there are other poor, unfortunate stars who just want their time in the limelight, and I do try to help the less fortunate._

_I'm sure you're all wondering who the mystery man is. Well, I'll never tell, but sources close to Potter say that he's handsome, intelligent, and in possession of the most remarkable collection of suits. But surely, that could be anyone?_

_- Draco_


End file.
